


Avoiding the Detective

by MissJuliaBelle



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Borrowers - All Media Types
Genre: ... for mysterious purposes, Alternate Universe - Borrowers Fusion, Borrower John, Gen, Human Sherlock, Not everything is tagged..., Pocket John, Slow Build, The Borrowers - Freeform, WIP, this is going to be long!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-03-01 14:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2776400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissJuliaBelle/pseuds/MissJuliaBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a borrower living contently on the walls of 221A with his bean, Mrs. Hudson, who is perfectly oblivious. However, when a certain swaggering bean moves into the flat above, will John be able to stay hidden away? Or will he become the newest experiment?</p><p>*tags and rating may change*<br/>*slow, unpredictable updates*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

   Of course, John had picked the one place that was sure to get him in trouble.  Being a borrower, John wasn't very large to begin with; coupled with the fact the he was even slightly short for borrower standards, he came up to about eight centimeters.  Everything was far too large for him to use or get around without some amount of effort.  The world was not made for borrowers, since it was not made _by_  borrowers.  Human beans built just about everything, and since they were the bigger people, they thought they owned the world.  Of course borrowers were the real superior people, but the beans were much larger and brutish.  So of course, the borrowers did what any perceived weaker species would do: they stayed hidden.

   He had been living in the walls of 221A for almost seven years when a certain haughty bean strolled his way into one of the flats above.  John had caught a glimpse of him the day he moved his things upstairs.  Just the flapping of a long coat, and dark hair.  At first, this had been wonderful; Mrs. Hudson was often checking up on this new bean, and when he was gone she would regularly leave to go "clean" his flat.  This left her part of 221 open for borrowing, and John had to go out less and less since he could fill his pantry so frequently.  It had been a fantastic setup.

   However, the longer this bean stayed, the more worried John became.  He learned about some of the strange habits this new tenant had; such as going for days without sleeping, fretting John's bean over how little he ate, being rather rude to just about everyone, and altogether making quite a nuisance of himself.  Of course he couldn't have been normal, oh no, this one was a detective.  John could hear the conversations that happened upstairs when he listened through the second story floor boards with ease.  Apparently this human bean prized his mind above all else, and prided himself in his deductions.  It was fascinating really; it seemed he could tell your life story by studying the scuff marks on your shoes.  It was also terrifying for a borrower, even if he wasn't living on the same floor.  What if he decided something small was out of place, or missing, was cause for suspicion rather than simple forgetfulness?

   This bean was a scientist as well.  Just the icing on the cake.  Borrowers never showed themselves to beans mainly due to the fear of being squashed, but this one...  He would probably keep John  _alive_ ; experiment on him, expose the borrower kind, maybe even sell him to a laboratory for quite a sum.  Beans could be terrifying with their constant thirst for power, and the discovery of the borrower kind presented plenty of avenues for it.

   John had many a restless night, pondering whether or not he should pack up and leave.  This bean was obviously a huge risk, a disaster waiting to happen.  But then again, John hadn't felt quite the same since the new addition to the settlement.  Everything seemed a little more exciting, a little more risky.  John hadn't felt this much exhilaration since moving from his old borrowing house.  Yes, the journey had been dangerous.  Yes, he'd been afraid at times.  Yes, he had even been seriously hurt; he had the scars to prove his bravery.  But things hadn't been the same living alone, going from his family in the large house to living with an older bean and her boring routine.  Nothing had really captured his attention the same way anymore.

   This new, tall, young bean had put a little zest even in the smallest of tasks.  His energy when he had a case was contagious, even when you couldn't see him.  His brisk pacing when he was thinking put you just as on edge as he was.  His baritone shouting had reverberated in John's chest on a few not-as-rare-as-you’d-imagine occasions, and sent chills down his spine.  It was quite terrifying sometimes.  Whenever John was forced to cover his ears from the noise, he was reminded of just how small he really was.  And then there was his violin.  Oh the violin; the extension of the bean's very existence.  Normally, when there were others in the flat, it was very controlled; even then you could feel the music carry just a little bit of the player's feeling in its tones.  But when Mrs. Hudson was gone, and the bean thought he was alone, the music seemed to spring to life.  Even from underneath the floorboards or in the walls John could practically visualize the violin and the player become one beautiful machine; putting his very soul into the strings, playing his sorrows, his merriment, his boredom.  It was a beautiful, haunting thing.

   Maybe, John would hope to himself.  Maybe he could stay.  Perhaps this man would never come to 221A.  He seemed perfectly content, if not under stimulated, in his part of the building.  Certainly, if Mrs. Hudson wished to see him, she could go upstairs and talk at him for a bit.  It's not like he desperately  _needed_ anything from the bean's flat, so their paths would very likely never come too close, right?

   Then, of course, the inevitable happened.  The new bean had come into Mrs. Hudson's flat for conversation.  Not for his own sake of course, or even of his own intent.  He probably would have preferred to avoid it since he apparently had a habit of going for days without speaking, or even stirring for that matter.  One of Mrs. Hudson's light bulbs had gone out and she asked the man to help her replace it, as her bad hip made it hard for her to get on a ladder or stool.  Fortunately, John had been listening to the violin playing, and the sound of the conversation travelled fairly easily to John, so he had been able to prepare.  When he had put it off 'due to a case,' she nagged him for days until he finally could be bothered to walk down the stairs to her home.

   John debated with himself over and over again.  Did he dare risk trying to catch another glimpse of the detective?  He had been a bit of a thorn in his side for a while now, and it would be interesting to see the cause of all this grief.  At the same time, it was tricky.  There was a crack in the corner of one of the kitchen walls, it would be easy to watch.  But then again, the bean was sharp, and that particular spot was about eye-level to the giant.  If he looked just the right way, saw the tear, and suspected anything John wouldn't be able to get away fast enough-

   Wait a tick, he hadn't even seen the bean in action yet.  The probability of that scenario was practically non-existent.  Maybe the bean was just full of hot air.  It was perfectly logical to think that Mrs. Hudson overestimated him.  It was obvious she treated him slightly more like her own son that a tenant.  She was lonely and needed someone to be attached to; perfectly normal if she held him in higher regards than his abilities fit into...  Yes, John was going to observe the bean, and see if he was really all that dangerous.

   John positioned himself in the wall.  It was rather high up, but John preferred seeing everything from a beans point of view; it made him feel... like an equal.  It gave him a better view of everything as well.  He made himself comfortable and waited for the entertainment.

   Within two minutes the bean had noticed a few strange things even with John's careful planning.  The troublesome bulb in question was in the kitchen near some cupboards that John usually borrowed from.  The massive person had come in determined, and had pretty much kept his back to John the entire time.  All John could really see was his full head of hair, and that he was wearing a blue dressing gown.  Apparently, sitting bored at home meant you didn't need to dress in the morning... interesting.  Mrs. Hudson was prattling on about her nieces that had come to visit a week ago, how Sherlock should have seen them, and more nonsense that John couldn't help but smirk at.

   However, when the bean squinted at the cupboards, John's smile quickly fell flat.  Descending the ladder, the colossal being swung open a cupboard door.  He inspected the outside and the very edge, no doubt seeing the tiny dents left by John's borrowing tools.  He then started rifling through a bit of the cupboards contents, which John couldn't quite see, but whatever the bean saw served to heighten the tension in the giant's shoulder.  His intense glaring at such a seemingly innocuous thing prompted Mrs. Hudson to stop mid-sentence.  "Oh, and they absolutely loved the- Sherlock, what's gotten into you?"

   The bean froze and didn't respond.  John's mouth went dry.  _No no oh, please don't._

   The detective turned swiftly as his eyes flitted around the kitchen.  John had just enough time to see his face before he pulled back for fear of being Seen.  John swallowed hard; he couldn't help it if his heart leaped into his throat, now could he?  He definitely looked intense enough; as if his seemingly multi-colored eyes and prominent cheekbones weren't enough he was rather pale and it contrasted starkly with his dark hair.  Altogether, he cut a rather intelligent, imposing image.  The very facial features of the bean screamed _sharp,_ and John finally could put a face to the interesting challenge he decided to take on himself.  This was exciting, this was adventure, _this was what John had been waiting for_. _  
_

   John tried to listen hard but the pounding in his ears drowned out anything else.  The silence was just long enough for John to question whether the paper before him would be suddenly torn open to reveal him when the deep baritone voice broke the intensity.

   "Mrs. Hudson, it appears you may have rats."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is currently a one-shot, as I don't want to abandon my other work. If this gets big enough though, I may continue it. It's been gathering dust for about two months, so I figured I'd post it. :)  
> Kudos are love, Comments are life!  
> -JB
> 
> *UPDATE*  
> Thanks so much for the hits, comments, kudos and subscriptions you guys! They feed my inner muse!
> 
> So you may not see an update for a bit, but that's because this was a one shot, so now I have some work to do. Working on a skeleton and fleshing things out a bit more, editing what little I've written, etc.
> 
> So more adventures to come you guys, thank you all again!
> 
> Kudos are love, Comments are life!  
> -JB


	2. Rats!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!  
> So this is for your patience and loveliness while I finish getting my ducks in a row... I figured I'd give this to you guys for now. :)
> 
> Oh, and meretricious or something...

_NOOOOOO YOU BLOODY IDIOT._  John was relieved for only a millisecond when his mind processed what the bean had actually said.  John scurried away as silently as possible to where his 'house' was situated in Mrs. Hudson's wall separating the hall from the kitchen.

   During one of his debates with himself when the bean had first moved in John had packed a bag of his absolute basic essentials intending to leave on the spot.  Of course he had decided against it and unpacked it again, but he had borrowed a sticky note to list those essentials in case things ever got tricky.

   See, if Sherlock thought there were rats in Mrs. Hudson's flat, the two beans would be paying special attention to little things.  Food that was easily borrowed before without incident was suddenly missed very much.  Holes were searched for and plugged up, others were rigged with traps.  Small, normally indecipherable creaks, even if it was just the house settling, were suddenly cause to run for a broom.  In short, John couldn't stay.

   Why had the detective even come to that conclusion?  Of all things, rats were the worst things imaginable for borrowers.  Well, of course, besides being Seen.  Whenever rats invaded a home they were very hostile to borrowers.  Being a bit of a hunter himself, John understood the primal instinct to get rid of the competition, but oftentimes when food was scarce the rats may actually  _seek out_  his kind as an alternative food source.  Some rats had simply developed the taste for flesh and hunted borrowers and other small animals on a regular basis.  Then there was the nasty business of cleaning up after...

   But for John, rats hit a nerve.  That nerve being in his shoulder.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   John lived in the same house as his parents until he was twenty two.  The house was inhabited by a well-to-do family of beans, but the only ones left the parents and the youngest bean who attended Uni left in the establishment when John expanded his horizon.  This meant plenty of empty rooms and other borrowing families, which was turning out to be quite an annoyance to John Watson.

   John had grown up behind the Watson Petroleum boiler (hence the unusual last name) along with his parents and sister.  At that time, the bean children were still young, inquisitive little things.  They always added a bit of tenseness to John's daily existence.  From learning the basic rules of borrower existence to borrowing itself, there was always a bit of adrenaline to be had.  Now that they'd all grown up, as kids tend to do, they lost that spark of youthful curiosity and wonder at the little things in life.  They'd become boring and very nearly  _easy_  to borrow from.  John, after many other factors were weighed and pondered, decided he was far too young to already be this lazy.  No, he'd wanted more spark.  When he was young he learned to read and taught a friend so they had something more to do.  Eventually when they were old enough, they'd had even taken to boldly reading the college beans' textbooks and studying to keep their minds off of the hum-drum everyday life.  Not that either were even Seen, mind you, but going out onto an open desk with very little cover just to learn about bean practices was considered taboo by many older borrowers.

   The time had finally come for young John to spread his wings.  Even striking across the house to live on his own hadn't been enough for the young borrower.  Though John had grown comfortable, he decided it was time for a new place.  He eventually brought up the subject to his parents, who tried to stay as neutral as possible.  Of course, Harry hadn't seen why he should leave; there were so many nice borrower girls here to settle down with, the borrowings were good, and he was within a well-established community.  This was what every borrower dreamed to achieve, wasn't it?

   He hadn't expected her to understand though.  John didn't just want to be comfortable.  It was too boring.  Everything about a normal borrower life seemed dull and uninteresting to John.  He decided after much internal debating to follow his borrower friend’s example and become an outtie.

   During his nomadic phase after moving from his family's home, he had spent most of his travels in the sewers.  Many of the beans that actually went down their were either drunk out of their minds, too high to notice, or too busy going about their maintenance work to be bothered with the scurrying around the floors.  Eventually meeting with a community of outtie borrowers, John had agreed to help them get rid of some particularly carnivorous rodents.  It'd been absolutely awful.

   He'd stayed there for a couple of years, helping the hidden city purge itself of the rats, down to the defenseless pups in their nests.  Of course, he'd made a few close-knit friends, as soldiers do, and watched some get torn apart right before his eyes.  Technically, the only 'safe' haven was in the center of the city and only the weaker, injured, or inexperienced borrowers were allowed to stay there.  Even there rats had been known to break through the defenses once in a blue moon, causing bloodshed and panic in their wake.  John had learned to sleep lightly, not that the nightmares didn't keep him up most nights as it was.

 

   John had only done light bandage work at first, keeping mainly engaged in battle, but still witnessed many of his brave comrades fall to the bloody teeth and claws.  He had nearly suffered the same fate.  It was horrifying.  He had been patching up an acquaintance's leg when something brushed against his own calf.  He'd turned quickly with a makeshift glass blade when the rat behind him bit deep in his shoulder.  He'd shouted in pain, and his vision instantly blurred.  John had managed to dig his jagged shard into the rats face and hold it for a moment, but his strength waned quickly and with a flick of its neck the rat had managed to dislodge the weapon and nearly knocked out the borrower.  It had proceeded to drag the limp John a distance away.  He couldn't do a damn thing.

 

   His moans of anguish had fortunately caught the attention of some of the other 'warriors' though, and once the beast had been dipatched they brought him to the center of the city.  John was in and out of comas and bedridden for nearly a month, and had probably put a significant dent in the supply of antibiotics the outties had managed to borrow.  A large scar had formed after the incident, and it reminded him of what danger he could get into nearly every day.  John would have nightmares for years to come, and what beans called 'Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.'

   During the healing period he developed a seemingly random limp, which rendered him nearly useless to the fighting side of the cause.  His focus then turned to being a doctor for a short while, using techniques that he had learned from his old home.  It proved itself a worthy hobby though, as John quickly became a great medic, even in non-emergencies.  Of course, he kept mum about just  _how_  he had come across this vast wealth of medical information, but he passed on the knowledge that he could.  Thankfully, borrowers were anatomically similar, if not identical copies of, human bean bodies.  John had no real basis for comparison though, as none of the city borrowers were as medically aware as John and any bodies he'd managed to get permission to dissect were not exactly  _adequate_  or  _whole_.

   After clearing out the rats, the city of borrowers had asked him to stay, but he felt he couldn't settle there where he had seen so much death.  They kindly pointed out a flat with an old woman, easy borrowing, gave him some food and sent him along to his current home.  John had rigged up lots of makeshift elevators, stairs, and such conveniences to help with his limp and settled in.  The pains when using his leg were ignored out of habit and he became a better borrower than even his father for his troubles.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   Come to think of it, he hadn't been limping very much at all lately...

   Anyhow, he was sure the borrower city would gladly take back a doctor; there were always going to be sick borrowers, and without access to medication and information like the beans had, even a cold could end badly. 

   But oh, he desperately wished he could stay.

   John had been there almost a total of eight years now; he had grown attached to the place.  Mrs. Hudson's trivialities, Sherlock's excitability, the warm comfort of the beams and drywall he had come to know and love.  All of it suddenly ripped away because Sherlock Holmes was wrong.  Well, not that he should have come to the absolutely obvious and not at all crazy  conclusion that there was a tiny person living in Mrs. Hudson's walls and living off of them; no, that would have been awful.  But John would leave for maybe a month or two, and hopefully this whole thing would blow over.

   But wait, he couldn't just leave without some sign of the rats still being around.  Surely rats wouldn't just up and leave when a bean found signs of them in a house.  But what to do?  He couldn't  _stay_  and let the humans catch him, but he couldn't leave and rouse Sherlock's suspicions.

   So there had to be some kind of compromise...  John sat down at his kitchen 'table' for a moment.  He looked around at his makeshift furniture.  He had successfully tapped the water supply when he first moved in, but he had to heat his water himself.  He had worked hard to make this, and he had come to know and love the place...  And now it was as good as gone.

_Damn it, Sherlock..._

   But wait, he didn't just need to keep up the ruse of rats in the house...  If they didn't catch any they'd just call an exterminator, or leave the place entirely, or worse; tear apparent the very walls and find hints of John's existence.  He needed bodies.  Well, live rats really, since Sherlock would certainly know if the rat was dead before it was in a trap or before gas got to it.

   The little gears suddenly clicked in John's mind, and as soon as the teeth meshed they spun a mile-a-minute...

   John had a plan.

   And with the holidays just around the corner, the beans wouldn't want to have traps out where their guests could see them...  Oh, what a wonderful Christmas miracle, John could stay!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this has now been edited and beefed up a bit. Some John Watson back-story for ya. ;)
> 
> I've decided to leave the first chapter in the original one-shot format so you can read it as one, if you so desire. I'm still working on chapter three whenever the inspiration decides to strike me, and my barely-put-together skeleton is already crashing to pieces... *sigh* Oh well, I'll just loosen up my outline. I shall let the muses run rampant with my quill!
> 
> Kudos are love, Comments are life!  
> -JB


	3. A New Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long! I had a secret self-imposed deadline of New Year's, which I obviously didn't make. But here it is, just for you my darlings!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> *By the way, this story is totally unbetad, any and all mistakes are my own. I keep finding little things after I post, and I'm sorry for the small edits that keep happening, it's just 'lil old me fixing stuff...
> 
> -JB

   John covered his eyes from the light, overly sensitive to the bright rays hitting his retinas.  His head pounded and he felt a bit off balance, not a good combination for someone who was planning to borrow food.  Standing at the hole in the wall, peeking out, he noted the messiness of Mrs. Hudson's breakfast counter.  Normally her house was fairly spotless, but she had been busy tidying up Sherlock's flat so company could be entertained there.  Not to mention clients.  John could barely walk in a straight line though, much less safely borrow anything, so he walked to the edge of his bed, sat down and massaged his temples.  He tried to remember just what had caused such a freak head-pounding.  It was all a bit of a haze, but he began to recall the night previous...

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   New Year's Eve.  The night where many things could be gotten away with.  Beans nearly always celebrated the occasion with alcohol, and so it was fairly easy to sneak around once half of them were passed out and the remaining too blasted to care.  Oh yes, this was going to be wonderful.

   John had been planning this for just over a week.  Mrs. Hudson would be out of her flat for a rather long time, leaving John to his devices.  He would borrow the supplies necessary and get out quickly, just in case.  He could get his weekly supplies in the morning while the beans were complaining of headaches and being overall lethargic.

 _I'm gunna need some extra string as well for tonight's project._ John quickly added to his growing list of things he was going to borrow.  He was beginning to feel the light tug of worry at the back of his mind, but he pushed it away before it could take root.  Everything was fool proof.  The party upstairs might get a bit rowdy so any noise he made would be covered, and Mrs. Hudson would definitely be up for the whole celebration with a glass of Sherry and a smile lighting her face.  He would do what needed doing, and then he could stay at 221A for a while longer...  That is, as long as the plan held out and Sherlock kept his big nose out of it.

   John made his way through the walls to watch his bean's movements.  He peeked through the same hole that had revealed his detective nearly a week ago.  Fortunately he had correctly predicted that they wouldn't set traps until after the seasonal festivities, but they had already begun finding and sealing some of his passages in and out of the beans walls.  This was one of the places they still hadn't come across.  Yes,  _they._ Sherlock had taken an interest in the rat infestation as he could use them for experiments.  Of course he could always just make a few calls and get some lab rats with little trouble, but he had mentioned something about wanting 'impure, natural subjects' for certain tests.  Not to mention watching the habits of rats in their 'normal' conditions to compare with crime scene houses, the infestation process, and any more information he could get his hands on.  He had even set up a hidden camera at a hole that John had frequently used before this whole rat business, probably to catch the rodents in the act of scurrying about their business.

   Mrs. Hudson, however, was not amused.  She was used to having company over and baking constantly.  Her house was always fairly spotless, but lately she had been cleaning furiously after everything she did, leaving 221A immaculate.  John was a bit disappointed by that, as he enjoyed a crumb of her pastries every now and again while borrowing.  Not to mention, he had to be extremely conscious of his footprints, any dust from the walls that had latched onto his jacket or in his hair, and the position of the boxes, bags, and other things he borrowed from so he could replace them perfectly.  Honestly, it was only going to get worse for a while, and John was perfectly aware of the fact.  But in order to stay, this was probably the best plan John could conjure.

   And if he was lucky, he himself wouldn't ever come across any rats.  But if he did, he was prepared.  He had searched throughout the sitting room and Mrs. Hudson's room upstairs on the third floor, looking for anything sharp; missing safety pins, lost earrings, broken hair clips, sharpened to clamp down and stab, he had even found a nail clipper.  He broke out the file and whetted it against the concrete walls every chance he got while the beans were away, rewarding him with a rather formidable blade.  He was ready for whatever lay ahead for him this evening.

   Mrs. Hudson was checking some of her baking, and John quadruple checked his pack of supplies.  The nail file, a pack of dental floss with a screw-in hook tied to the end, he was wearing his borrowing shoes, a rubber band for gripping, tiny jars for food, his list of things he needed to find for his plan or improvise around, and plenty of room in his pack for the things he was about to borrow.  He was going to be exhausted by the time his plan was executed.  He should have borrowed yesterday...  _Ah well, can't be helped now.  I'll get up early tomorrow morning is all.  I'll have to watch and make sure the beans'll be out in the morning too I suppose.  Bugger._

   John waited patiently as Mrs. Hudson made several trips back and forth from her kitchen to 221b with baked goods and the like.  Finally Sherlock came the last couple of trips and actually  _smiled_  good-naturedly at his elder.  It was only for a moment, but it was warm and genuine.  John didn't think his lips could curl that way...  Weren't they in a permanent pouty line?  Despite that, the beans face quickly fell back to its usual controlled demeanor.  John quickly snapped back to attention as well, now seeing they only had about one more trip to make, and would probably stay upstairs to set up for company.

   John heard from conversations that had passed between beans (mostly spoken by Mrs. Hudson, naturally) that the elderly woman would try not to traverse the stairs if she could help it tonight.  Her hip had been acting up with the cold weather and tended to stiffen up a bit, so Sherlock would be the one to answer the door when guests arrived.

   John had decided to wait until after the first wave of guests were greeted so he could be certain the party would keep the beans upstairs.  This took a good twenty minutes, and by then John had walked to a different entrance, gotten cold feet thrice and had talked himself back into it as many times.  He had moved to an electrical socket that Mrs. Hudson had never thought to remove or pay someone to properly hook up, where he had loosened the screws; checking his list one last time, John thought through the most likely places to find such objects:

 

Must Have:

 

Coin or other Wedge

~~Battering Ram~~ _  
_

Sugary something or other

Gate Materials:

-chicken wire

-paper clips

-sturdy rods

-lock or other kid of latch

- ~~wooden boards~~ _  
_

Rope

 

   He took a steadying breath and stuffed the list back in his bag.  _This is your idea John, if you don't do it you need to move.  You don't want to move John.  You need to do this._

   Listening one last time, he waited for any signs of beans tromping down the stairs.  Once he double and triple checked he removed three of the screws in front of his and waited after each hit the floor to see if anyone noticed the sounds.  Finally he slowly pushed the panel aside, glancing cautiously outside for any signs of movement.  He jumped the few inches to the ground and kept to the wall.  No need to venture into a room until necessary.

   John made his way toward a broom closet where the gardening supplies were kept.  Hopefully he could find something useful in there, but there was a problem.

   The door was closed.

   Closed doors are something of an annoyance to borrowers, and John was no exception.  Fortunately though, this particular closet had a lever style handle so it was much easier to manipulate.  He took off his dental floss backpack and tried to judge the distance between himself and the knob.  Unwinding a length of the floss he swung it expertly to the handle, and the hook caught on with a satisfying  _clink_.

 _So far so good._   John walked directly underneath, winding most of the slack back into his pack.  With a grunt he used nearly all his body weight to pull the floss down and away from the doorframe.  It took a couple goes, but after the fourth try John managed to open the door up a crack.  Deftly flicking his wrist, he watched as the hook hit the floor with a  _plink_.  He gathered up the makeshift rope and pushed the door open with his good shoulder.

   He managed to find a roll of chicken wire, but had a bit of trouble getting it cut.  Just unwinding the roll was quite a workout, but he soon found his makeshift machete wouldn't do the job of cutting through.  John looked for quite a bit before finding wire cutters, and even with the tool, it took a lot of effort to clip off the amount of material he needed.  He pushed the curled metal to the floor, finally dropping the oversized tool to the side.  Searching a bit he eventually stumbled across some nails, which would work quite well at gate posts.

   Once he measured and cut enough for a small door he gathered what he had near the door and lugged the wire cutters back to their spot on the shelf.  He took his metal parts and put them behind the socket.  The rest of the list proved much easier to find, however.  He gathered as much as he could into his pack and brought them back to the hole when it was too full.  A few beans arrived during his borrowing, but nothing to be worried about as he could be much quieter now that the loudest parts were done.

   He was finally on the last item: bait.  Since this could be gotten easier from a hole in the kitchen he took his other supplies and put them further in the walls closer to his home.  Venturing through the tunnels again, John froze for a moment.

   Upstairs was awfully quiet.

   But that was quickly remedied when Sherlock began to play his violin.  The bean played a rather upbeat sounding tune, and John couldn't say he'd ever heard it before.  When had he practiced that?  John figured if he was going to get something from the kitchen, he may as well get something for himself too.  A bit of something sweet maybe.  If he found another paperclip, all the better.

   Pulling the section of wall he had cut through, he thought about what he could get as bait.  Probably peanut butter or something...  He peeked out of the wallpaper that remained, hiding his hole.  Finding nothing threatening he made his way onto the counter.  The notes of the bouncy tune perked up John quite a bit as he ran across the 'L' shaped countertop and slowed under the cabinets where Sherlock had first identified the small scratches.  Well, John was about to make a new one.

   He tossed up his hook and line, the point readily catching a divot in the wood.  He tugged twice just to be sure it was secure, and then began climbing.  Once he had a foothold against the frame, he pushed against it, wriggling through the opening before it could close on him.  Once inside he pushed it open again to retrieve his hook; he didn't like to leave anything out in the open without supervision if it could be helped.

   He meandered his way in the darkness looking for something suitable, but realized peanut butter  _would_  probably be easiest.  The pantry wasn't sectioned off, the doors just opened to different parts of the same space, which John was eternally thankful for.  Still, he rummaged around, reading labels and wishing he could come up with blueprints for some sort of makeshift torch.  At some point the violin had stopped during his search, and John instantly missed its sweet tones.  Eventually he stumbled across some jam, one of his personal favorites.  _Well, I'll be taking some of that then..._

   He wrapped the band around the lid of the purple jar, awkwardly tugging and hugging the massive turntable.  He grunted and sweated from the exertion, probably pulling a muscle in the process.  When it came loose he stuck his hand in, scooping some and then scraping it off into one of his own jars.  He had three, but he needed the other two for bait, so he reluctantly licked his fingers and returned the lid with only one jar of jam for himself.

   Logically speaking, the peanut butter probably wouldn't be too far off, so he collected his rubber band and resumed his snooping.  He hummed a bit of the tune Sherlock had been playing to himself, a tiny bit off-key, but hey, nobody was listening.  He wandered into the wine cabinet and turned back, wondering how he could have missed an enormous jar of peanut butter.  Sighing, he turned back around and began checking the labels again.

   Thunderous footsteps sounded down the stairs and John wondered who might've arrived at this point; it was quite late in the evening.  Bit not good to come this late to a party...  It must've been nearing midnight by now.  He then stopped his ferreting when a second pair of footfalls joined the first, and two voices started conversing.  John ran through his mind quickly; Lestrade hadn't gone to meet any of the guests, and that was definitely the Detective Inspector's voice alright.  He had heard it plenty of times when a case had come up.  Wait a tick-

   There hadn't been a doorbell ring.

_What-_

   He heard the two open up Mrs. Hudson's door and the snaking tendrils of doubt and fear he had kept at bay for this long shot out and clutched at his heart.  He took a step back at the impact and listened closely for the reason of this invasion.

   The door opened up directly to the kitchen and he could hear someone pacing hurriedly.  _That'll be Sherlock then..._   The other was suspiciously quiet, probably watching the detective stalk back and forth.  They hadn't bothered to turn on the lights for whatever reason, but there were still shadows playing in the tiny gap underneath the cabinet door.

   John's borrower senses were intense, and John was having trouble ignoring them: many borrowers have a sense that goes off when human beans come near as a defense mechanism.  For most borrowers they must take long periods of time to develop the sense, but a lucky few simply acquire it with puberty.  John's sense came when he was about fourteen, and manifested as a tingling sensation at the base of his skull and his wrists becoming a tad stiff.

   "I can't."  The booming voice took John off guard.

   "Really Sherlock?  Really?  It's just Anderson.  He's in the house now for Pete's sake, and you've yet to kill each other."

   "That doesn't mean he'll  _work_  with me, Lestrade.  And the same goes for me to him.  Unless you can get someone else on forensics, you're blind without me."

   "Sherlock..."

   "As they say Lestrade, it's me or the dog.  You may take your pick."

   "Sherlock!"

   Then the door to the wines quickly flipped open and John's feet seemed to be weighed down and tied to the wood beneath him.  He didn't dare move.

   An enormous hand reached through and John couldn't take his eyes off it.  It swiftly rushed in and John thought he was going to die of a heart attack by the time it reached him.  He clenched down, bracing for the impact.

   None came.

   John opened his eyes when he heard the sound of glass scraping.  Sherlock was checking the wine labels! Oh god... He could see one of Sherlock's mesmerizing eyes from this angle and remained frozen to the spot.  Best not to catch his attention.  Maybe in the darkness...

   The bean apparently found the correct vintage and he took it out, double checking the label.

   "Sherlock, I need you on this case.  Miriam can't come; she's off on vacation in the Americas."

   "Very poor timing.  I suggest you come up with another plan."

   "If I let you go in first and keep Anderson away can you do it?"

   "No good.  I need an assistant."

   "You're impossible, you know that?"

   "Selective, not impossible Lestrade."  With that Sherlock closed the cabinet, and it sounded like he handed the bottle to the other bean.  "I should think Molly and Mrs. Hudson are waiting patiently for this, and if you take too long they'll suspect an argument; then you'll have an audience for your predicament."

   John's legs turned to putty and he hid behind a sack of flour.  Not for actual camouflage, but more for a feeling of safety.  Oh, that was close.  He sunk to a sitting position, the gravity of the situation hitting him like a ton of bricks.  Lestrade huffed and John internally winced at the sound.  One pair of shoes traveled up the staircase, but one stayed.   _What are you doing?_

   Suddenly the cabinet door rushed open again, though John couldn't see anything from behind the vastness against his back.  He felt the rush of air though, and it chilled John to the bone instantly.  _Don't move, don't breathe, don't even blink._  John's entire body tensed when he heard rustling of fabric and a light turned on.

 _Probably even the same damn bulb you fixed you-_  A massive shadow against the wall to his right interrupted John's thoughts...  _Oh God, leave.  Get out.  No._

   The shadow seemed to scan the entire length of the space, then Sherlock flung open the next door, then the next, until all five were opened up, light shining everywhere, and leaving John's heart pounding violently against his ribcage.

   Silence prevailed for nearly two minutes. Light, tentative footsteps sounded down the stairs again, but neither man moved a muscle.  John remained staring at the shadow, and the shadow in turn remained still.  The door opened, and the tenseness continued, until a voice broke the silence.

   "She-Sherlock?  It's nearly midnight."

   The shadow hadn't moved.

   "What are you doing?"  The voice was distinctly feminine, and after some more noises a new shadow, much smaller, joined the first.  Not even that deterred the detective, and he continuously burned a hole through whatever he was staring at.  "Sherlock, it's nearly midnight; you're going to miss the fireworks."

   "As will you if you don't hurry along Molly."  Sherlock's voice was flat and low, attempting at quiet but from John's point of view, failing miserably.

   "Sherlock, you can't miss it again.  Every year Sherlock... just once I think you should see them."  John liked this Molly.  He had heard  _about_  her, but never heard her voice.  It had taken on a warm tone, coaxing the detective to turn his head to the other silhouette.

   After a long moment of the two facing each other the silence was broken by the larger bean.

   "I'll be right up Molly.  Give me a moment."  His voice had also taken the warm inflection, causing Miss Hooper to turn away slightly, obviously not meeting his eyes.

   "Well, you said that last year..."  Sherlock's shadow suddenly reached under Molly's chin and brought it up to meet his gaze.

   "Promise."

   There was another stretch of silence, and Molly quietly nodded.  Sherlock's hand slowly came back down and Molly turned to leave.   _No, no no!  Stay!  Make him go upstairs, wouldn't want him to weasel out of it!_ John's internal pleas didn't quite reach, and Molly closed the door behind her.  John's borrower sense was driving him mad, and Sherlock hadn't budged from the spot.

   The shadow shrunk a bit, indicating the detective leaning in.

   "I know you're there.  Even if you're not I know you've been here." John broke out in a cold sweat.  He'd been Seen.

   John had never been Seen before.  And it was terrifying.

   "I've dealt with your kind before, and I know you're here.  I won't stand for you harassing Mrs. Hudson and myself much longer, so you should leave while you have the chance."  John's heart sunk deep in his chest.  He though Sherlock might understand his predicament.  Maybe he would've let him stay or- "Rats aren't welcome here.  You may be good for experimentation, but a rat is a rat.  I will have you all cleared within a month's time, so I would suggest you haul out before I find you."

   With that, the cabinets all were shut roughly and the light was turned off.  "I'll even go so far as to set traps up tomorrow.  I will have this house cleared come the end of this month."

_Yes you will...  In a sense._


	4. A Bit of Snooping

   John's headache lasted a few hours but eventually he decided some painkillers were in order.  Mrs. Hudson had remained upstairs and slept in Sherlock's bed, as she didn't want to traverse the stairs while tipsy and the detective barely slept anyways.  After finding a painkiller in his storage John broke off a piece and took it with water.

   After the headache subsided he grabbed his gear that he hadn't bothered to put away, and borrowed some weekly supplies.  He didn't have to be quite as careful, as Sherlock was up experimenting with something or other and Mrs. Hudson was making him tea and biscuits.  Speaking of tea...

   John made his way over to the tin containing the herbs he wanted, and stashed some in his messenger-style bag.  He had left his usual sack back in the wall, opting for the slightly more organizeable option.  After the night before, all he wanted to do was sleep forever; however seeing as that was extremely impractical he tried to figure out when would be the best time to execute the second part of his plan.  Mrs. Hudson's schedule was easy enough to track, but that Holmes bean...  He was a wild card to say the least.

   When Sherlock was on a case he could be out of 221B anywhere from an hour or so to days.  Of course, then Mrs. Hudson would fret and be more likely to break from routine and stay home if the bean didn't come back by the next day.  Somewhere a delicate balance was hiding, and John simply had to find it.  When both beans schedules allowed, John would begin in earnest.  For now though, he had a device to rig.

   He returned to his cozy home with his 'groceries,' putting them away and turning to his calendar he had copied from the landlady.  Well, Monday the 6th Mrs. Hudson would be out for her weekly game of bridge with Mrs. Featherstone.  Whether or not Sherlock would be around was yet to be seen.

   For the time being though, he could get to building the gate to section off his part of the house and the contraption to knock out the brick.  There was no going back now; he had already gone against one of the major rules of borrowing:

   Never take something that might be missed.

   And he had a hammer...

   He wasn't going to keep it for long, but hopefully nobody would go looking for it before he could return the clunky tool.  He would actually need it for a bit of battering, but after that he had no use for the thing.  But that could wait till later.  Now, he was more focused on a warm cuppa to relax him while no beans were around to smell the herbs.

   He boiled some water, ruminating over last night.  Sherlock had given no indication of seeing John until after the other bean left.  That meant if John's plan were to be followed, he may be Seen without having any idea.  John was much more nervous about his plan now,  _Worrying over it won't help.  Just do it and even if you are Seen, you can always leave._

   John's last thought left a sort of hollow sadness in his ribcage.  He brushed the ideas away and steeped his tea, trying to point his mind towards more useful things, like the measurements for the gate.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   A couple days later, John had practically everything set up.  He had made a small hole in the brick by taking a hammer and tying it to a beam above.  He'd pushed it back and forth, sort of like a swing, and let it chip away at one particular spot until it was large enough for a small rat to get through.  He had kept it plugged up until it was actually needed though, no need to tempt fate...  He was certain Sherlock would find it at some point during the disinfestation process and have it fixed: no harm done there.

   He had also made a sort of barricade which would keep the rats and he separate.  All he had to do was get the rats.

   And check out 221B of course...

   Well, he wasn't willing to stay with a bunch of rats.  Who knew what could happen?  He wouldn't be able to sleep!  Not that his nightmares let him...

   But they would only get worse if John's subconscious knew he was actually living with rats.  As it was he would make a gasp at most upon waking, reliving the 'war' over and over again.  Sometimes different from the actual occurrences, some dreams simply replaying what he'd seen with blood-curdling accuracy.  Knowing rats could be nearby would send his dreams into a mad descent down the rat hole, John just knew it.

   As long as he laid low, he would be able to move back downstairs within a month.  Sherlock had said he’d be rid of the pests, and John had to hope he would hold to it.  Besides, Sherlock was confident the rodents would stay downstairs, as he never had much food around except what Mrs. Hudson brought.  Most of  _that_  remained untouched anyway, and was either sent back down with the elderly bean, or promptly discarded.  Unless of course, it was being used for mold growth studies...

   Today was the time for it though.  The perfect day to scout out his potential borrowing grounds.  Sherlock had gone with a sample of something-or-other to Saint Bart's to see it with a more powerful microscope, giving John about an hour and a half or more.  Mrs. Hudson was having someone over for tea, so there would be no interruptions on her part.  He'd need to practice managing the gate anyway, since it blocked off the only way to get upstairs through the walls.  Brown rats liked to stay on the ground floors anyway...

   John used his body weight against the pins that held the wire gate closed.  They were a little too complex for rats to get open, but John had to try to figure out how to easily access the gate from either side.  He figured he could just leave the openings to the clips on whatever side he was on to make it easier for him to get at.

   He roughly judged where the flat actually began so he could look for ways in.  An electrical socket plate was always a good option, but John hoped for other ways in, as he didn't need Sherlock happening to notice the screws were being regularly removed.   _A paranoid Sherlock... I could see that._   He smiled at the thought of the detective frantically searching for cameras or other evidence of tampering in his home.

   He made his way through the walls, getting familiar with the layout and following a thick cord with many wires hoping it would lead to a socket.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   While John was still living with his parents he'd made a friend; Rory Pantry.  They'd become fantastic companions, though they practically lived on opposing sides of the house.  They'd met while John had been learning to borrow; Mr. Watson had become sick, so he had contacted another borrower who was already teaching his son.  John and the son had instantly got along, each finding the other a welcome change to their sisters.

   Once John's father was better the families got together for dinner; Harry instantly got along with the Pantry girls as well, leaving the boys to their devices.

   John took Rory to his room, and was surprised to find that his new companion couldn't read.  John had learned from his mother, but borrowers usually didn't bother learning to read much beyond the Borrowing Signs.  Those were used to communicate where good borrowing houses were, whether the house had danger such as a cat, and so on.  John however loved reading what he could and so decided he would teach Rory.

   They kept their lessons to themselves, as some borrowers thought it ridiculous to read.  If a borrower were to learn to read, they may become much less wary of beans; become  _sympathetic_  with their ways.  That's how John's maternal cousin had been Seen once, and it was sometimes frowned upon by those with traditional borrower outlooks.  They started by running into the nursery, while an adult was borrowing and knew where they were, and reading the extremely simple alphabet books, as per the advice of Mrs. Watson.  They eventually graduated to the books with words yet quickly grew bored of the same silly stories over and over.  Thankfully Rory learned the simple words quickly enough.

   By the time Rory could read without stuttering through certain words a whole year had passed.  The two boys barely registered the time as they found many new things to read.  Usually they just borrowed interesting things that were thrown away while their fathers were borrowing together so they could bring it home to read.  Eventually though, they decided to do something new.

   They found a book with a cover that looked interesting: a person who appeared to be of borrower size battling some type of thick snake with legs and wings.  At first they had been terrified and though that someone had been Seen, so they took their fathers to the picture.

   "Oh no, that giant lizard is a magical being; a dragon, and that is a knight."  Mr. Pantry patiently explained the beast to the boys when their tongues would work.

   "But why is the borrower in metal?"  John's mind was blown away by the bright gleaming man, seemingly fighting the monster.

   John's father approached behind him, laying one heavy hand on John's shoulder and pointing with the other.  "That's not a borrower John, dragons are huge.  That's a bean."

   The boys were in awe that a creature of such magnitude could even exist, but the elders were fairly certain they weren't real.  They discouraged the boys from more questions though, because, "Fairytales don't do a borrower any good.  They won't help you escape beans detection, or tell you when a potato is too old to be worth borrowing.  They're simply nonsense to pass a bean's time."

   Of course, that only made the boys want to read the book.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   They began sneaking out on their own on some evenings after supper, meeting in the wall above the bookshelf and trying to read the book.  At first, they were very confused with many new words and even things they had never heard of.  Damsels in distress?  Princesses?  Swords? They figured out many things, but if they were really stuck they would ask Mrs. Watson about it in private; she secretly encouraged the boys to read, and would tell them what she knew.

   Eventually they finished the monstrosity; they hadn't been able to peel their eyes from the text for the past few chapters, and Rory was nearly caught out by his mother.  For the next week or so, when nobody was around, they would find sticks for makeshift swords and fight, claiming their share of treasure.  Once, they had even gone outside and had a pretend adventure, finding a low, abandoned squirrel hole in a tree and pretending it was a dragon's cave in a mountainside.  Of course, there had been two princesses from different kingdoms so they could each reap the rewards of their conquest, but soon they itched for more.

   They searched through the bookshelf again, looking for more information.  They found Treasure Island, and for the next few months they were out sailing, searching for treasure and rum.  This continued to pretend or act out every new book they read, and they would want more.  More adventure, more twists, more adrenaline.

   They had begun Peter Pan and were trying to imagine what sort of substitutes they could use for flying when it happened.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

      John finally found what he thought might be a suitable entrance; the hallway socket just outside the bathroom was hardly ever used, so he doubted Sherlock would notice too much if he went out just this once.  Casting a glance across the hall, John noted the open bathroom entrance.  Thankfully Sherlock wasn't OCD about closing his doors, as John thought he might be.  Sherlock often talked when nobody was around though, so he searched for any signs of pets.  No hair anywhere, animal smells, no noises yet...  He was probably just talking to himself, but better safe than sorry.  Or dead.

      He poked his head out of the wall and peeked out; just to be sure there were no other signs of life.  To the right Sherlock's room was spotless; the floor vacuumed, the bed sheets crisp.  Just as he suspected, a bit of a neat freak.  Might not be good for borrowing then...

   He was shocked when he turned the other way.

   The kitchen looked like the lab of a mad scientist.  _Well, that's not too far off..._   It seemed to be mostly confined to the center table; but papers, obviously the results and deductions of experiments, lay everywhere.   _I thought Mrs. Hudson_  cleaned  _this place all the time..._  The table was covered with scientific equipment, ranging from chemicals and vials to- were those bean eyes?!  Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

   John walked to the table, and he was certain the horror showed easily in his face.  Eyeballs.  What on  _earth_  could he be doing with those?  No, John didn't want to know.  He continued to the living room and was again greeted with an absolute disaster site.  Books strewn everywhere, spray paint on one of the walls, more papers scattered across every surface, files, random things strewn here and there...  Sherlock Holmes, owned a headset, and he left it on a longhorn skull.  Of course he did...  And a _BEAN SKULL?!_

   John couldn't tear his eyes off the thing, marveling at its sheer size.  His medical side was interested in the ivory grin, but his borrower side couldn't get away from the dark sockets...  It was solid in his mind now:  _never_  be Seen by Sherlock Holmes.

   Seeing the state of the two main rooms gave John a glimpse of hope though.   _If he's this messy, surely he won't notice me being here a month or so.  I can do this no problem._

   At this point, he was running out of time.  He had no idea when the bean would be back.  He  mentally catalogued all the bookshelves, side tables, fireplace, chairs and sofa...  Didn't look like there were many borrowing holes in the living area though.  Ah well, he'd think of something, or just stick to the few holes that were in place already.

   He knew he had at least enough time to inspect the kitchen a bit more before getting worried about being caught, so he lightly jogged his way back.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   The boys had skittered out fairly late to see what on earth Peter was going to do to get off the rock after saving Wendy.  They read on and on, and finally realized it was getting light out.  They put back the clunky book and hurried back to their separate homes.

   John quietly snuck back into his room and snuggled under his covers without a hitch.  They had planned to go outside in the afternoon two days from then to rig a suspension device, and John couldn't wait to 'fly.'

   When the time finally came though, John was surprised to see Mr. Pantry had come with Rory that day.  John knew better than to ask Rory anything in front of him, so the boys meandered about ahead for a while, trying to put just a little distance between them all.  Mr. Pantry was not so easily duped though, and kept fairly close.  They already had rope and some other small things hidden away in the 'Dragon Cave,' and they needed to use it before some animal found it, or it blew away.

   But suddenly, John had an idea.  He shot a look at Rory, who obviously couldn't quite read it and he whispered under his breath instead.

   "Let’s pretend we were doing another more practical rig; get him to help."

   Rory's eyes lit, and he faced forwards to smile in affirmation and awe of John's brilliance.  John wondered how they were going to bring up the subject though...  He figured they might as well sprinkle a bit of truth in so it was more believable.

   The pair slowed ever so slightly by John's lead, so that they returned within easy earshot of the elder borrower.  John wasn't quite sure how to start.  "So Mr. Pantry, has Rory told you our plans and you've come to help?"

   Mr. Pantry looked at his son with a stern eye.  "No he hasn't.  He snuck out a couple of nights ago without an adult, so he's not allowed alone  _at all_  for a while."  There was an awkward silence for the boys.  Of course, how had John not instantly known when Mr. Pantry first showed up?  Now they would have Mr. Pantry following them closely for an indefinite amount of time.  Fantastic.

   "Well, we wanted to learn to make elevators, and we borrowed some of the stuff...  We were going to ask my dad too, but since you're already here..."

   Mr. Pantry stopped and pondered a moment, looking suspiciously between the two rascals.  "So that's what you two have been doing.  I hope you two know how badly it could go for all of us if you were in a dangerous situation and nobody knew where you were."  The boys looked at each other a bit shocked; the gravity of what they had been doing had never quite hit them this hard before.  Neither of them met Mr. Pantry's eye, as they continued to walk awkwardly.  "It’s fortunate nothing happened.  For now though, I think you'll need an adult around for a while.  Don't look at me like that, it's just for a while until we're sure you can take care of yourselves."

 _Well, fantastic. Now we can't get back to the book for at least a week, and we can't really pretend either so we don't give ourselves away.  What are we supposed to do?_  The three had begun trekking again, when Mr. Pantry broke the silence.

   "Well, I didn't say that we  _couldn't_  build that contraption..."

   The boys' faces lit up as they looked from each other to Mr. Pantry.  With renewed vigor, they made their way to the tree where they had hidden the supplies.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   John was busy snooping in the kitchen, keeping a nervous eye on the clock the entire time.  There was only one borrowing hole out in the open, which made John suspect that there was another hidden  _inside_  the cabinets, which would be perfect.  He could look for those in the wall though, so he made his way back to the socket.  He made sure he hadn't left any identifying footprints or the like, and screwed the socket most of the way in as he couldn't make the screws tight.

   He had only brought his rope and file, so travelling was comparatively easier than normal.  John wandered through the walls, trying to familiarize himself with them a little more.  He found another hole, but it was rather high up.  Tossing up his line and scrambling up, he found this hole led him to the mantle above the fireplace.  He was rather impressed with whoever made this one, as he hadn't been able to spot it before, and he had been  _looking_  for holes.  He would probably never use this one though, so he let it be.

   While John made his way back to the kitchen his borrower senses tingled slightly.  Hearing brisk steps up the stairs, he figured it must be the detective.  Since he was in the walls he knew he shouldn't worry, but he was still nervous.  Eventually he did find a hole that lead to the cupboards, but he wasn't up for exploring much in the open while Sherlock was around, so he made his way back to the gate without incident.

   When he got back home, Mrs. Hudson's friend was still there, and they were chatting in the kitchen, baking something or other as they spoke.  The smells wafted to John and he smiled knowing everything had gone without a hitch.  He got some jam and bread, but he couldn't toast it with Mrs. Hudson there to smell the fire, so he settled with a peanut butter and jam sandwich.

_Well, I didn't hear Sherlock snooping around when he got back.  He must not've seen anything.  Yeah, this could work quite well._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this took forever. My muse escaped my clutches right after started this chapter and finished my skeleton. I did it though!
> 
> For the month of February I'm going to be absolutely swamped with work, so there will be no updates until March. I'M SO SORRY! I know, I'm awful, but I figured if let you guys know.
> 
> I may be looking for a beta as well, so if anyone would like to do that, please message me! Even if you notice something off (like stupid me saying there was a ball-drop for New Years in England when I really don't know) please tell me! I'm not going to be offended, in fact, I really appreciate it!
> 
> By the way, I just got a tumblr! (I barely know how to USE said blog, but I'll learn I suppose...) HERE: http://missjuliabelle.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks y'all!
> 
> Kudos are love, Comments are life!  
> -JB
> 
> HEY, HERE: http://missjuliabelle.tumblr.com/post/113120484218/update-im-sorry
> 
> Please read!  
> -JB


	5. Tunnels

   It was slightly later in the evening and John wore several layers of clothing preparing for the cold he was about to embark into.  He pulled a dark blue, oversized jumper over his head, adding to his buffer against the brisk evening air.  Already he had packed the essentials and a couple changes of clothes.  His few medical 'documents' he had on hand were also gathered up and stuffed in his sack.  He carded a hand through his hair and huffed, looking around and trying to remember whether or not he'd forgotten something.  It felt like he had...

   Well, even if he had forgotten something it was better for him to pack lightly.  He would be coming back carrying much more than what he was already leaving with.

   John wasn't leaving on a permanent basis either, oh no.  He was simply visiting the city.  Already most of the 'furniture' John needed had been moved upstairs while Sherlock was away.  The few things that remained could be passed off as rats building a nest.  No harm done there.  He doubted anyone but the rats would ever see it, but just in case; better to err on the side of caution.

   There were no rats currently running amok through the walls, but he was going to change that.  Once he had a temporary flat in the city he'd doctor in exchange for clothes and other things he couldn't conjure himself.   _Maybe I'll finally get myself a torch..._

   He was certain there were borrowers that knew of, or even bred, rats that were fairly docile.  If he could get a couple of _those_ , he'd be as good as gold.  If not, he'd just leave the hole unplugged and hope one made its way inside.  That could probably work...

   He slung his packs onto his shoulders and took some string to secure them around his midsection once he was outside.  It would make him even more bulky and slow, but he would be grateful for it should he decide to hitch a ride on a bean.

   'Hijacking,' as it was commonly referred to, was a risky business.  It involved getting a ride on or with an unsuspecting bean, so stowing away in a purse, clinging to articles of clothing, even hiding in a car counted if you stretched your imagination.  Being Seen was always a possibility when traveling, but hijacking increased the risks by at least three fold.  He couldn't afford to let one of his packs slip and either fall or hit the bean, alerting it to his presence.

   And so, John checked his packs one last time, going over the list and going through an inventory of things in his mind.  Not thinking of anything else, he put on a pair gloves and hat, heading out through the hole in the brick he had made.  He stuffed the cloth back in when he was on the other side, but couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling he had missed something...

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   The two borrowers grew up absolutely inseparable.  They had taken to learning alongside the bean children when they left their books out.  This started when the kids had begun to learn beyond simple reading and maths.  John leaned more towards sciences like biology and chemistry.  Rory had taken an interest in numbers and physics.  They learned only what they thought was relevant, (bean history?  Boring...) and soon became quite sharp.

   Together they became invaluable to the borrower community in the house.  Rory was good with rigs and John would usually help him build.  John knew very simple medicine and knew what medication to give for what ailment, and Rory helped him borrow.  Each borrower taught his friend their trade in simpler terms; although neither reached the same level of prowess in the others field.

   They also began teaching themselves to sneak around efficiently in case they were ever in the open when a bean came home, or if they were ever Seen.  Climbing, hiding, camouflage, anything to make them better at what they did.  Rory and John had even gone so far as to borrow while a bean was in the kitchen once when they were sixteen and seventeen, respectfully.  The elder bean lady had been on the phone, and Rory and John had stuck to the cupboards mostly.  They'd managed to do it, and that was when Rory finally developed his borrower sense.  They'd nearly been Seen when Rory tried to excitedly explain his sudden twitching to John, but they snuck out successfully.  It turned out, Rory's left knee would get a numb tingling feeling when a bean was near, and the boys had gone outside to whoop and holler in celebration of Rory's newfound sense.

   They still loved to read fictional literature together.  Once they had come across _Gulliver's Travels_ and laughed.  After they had gotten through his first voyage to Lilliput, they had corrected so many things and been weirded out by others that they had nearly tossed the book aside.  They decided to continue for laughs and were surprised to find the roles reversed his next journey.  He was the small person amongst giants.

   They were hooked fairly quickly when they found something they could roughly relate to: being terrified of size differences.  They could sympathize when Gulliver was forgotten or carelessly left alone.  They panicked when simple things, like pets or even the wind, threatened his very life.  When they finished with Gulliver journey to Brobdingnag, they didn't have the hearts to read about a land filled with talking horses and their ways of life.  It almost felt like an insult that fears and tribulations they experienced in real life were on par with animals walking, talking, and acting like proper people.

   After that book, they had a bit of a hard time living the way they were.  They were both nineteen and they'd long since given up acting out their favorite stories.  This one though, this one was different.  They had seen many things that could happen to someone their size, and imagined even more.  Regardless of whether or not the story was fictional or even portrayed right, they felt they could be doing so much more.  More adventure.  More twists..  More adrenaline...

   Instead they threw themselves into their studies.  Fortunately for John the youngest of the bean sons had started medical school so he could learn directly from him.  Rory wasn't so lucky, but John helped him find what physics they could from what the older kids were learning.

   One day though, it wasn't enough for Rory.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   John was used to living as a nomad, but he hadn't been outside 221 in years.  Much less left Baker Street entirely.  The nearest clean sewer entrance he was even slightly familiar with was a few streets down.  If he could manage to hitch a ride, it would cut down his travel time significantly.

   The light of day was quickly waning, which was why he had waited so long to get outside.  It was bitterly cold, but it would've been only slightly more bearable in the day, and the light made traveling much more difficult.  At this time of day, John could practically melt into the shadows without fear of streetlights just yet.  When they were on, he simply had to stick to the walls mostly, or find darkness to travel in.  Therefore, the sooner he got in the sewers the better.

   His walk down Baker Street was uneventful, yet it felt onerous.  It took twenty minutes of toiling before he finally met a person he could hijack.  There were a few people he slipped by, but none with the right kind of clothing; long enough to latch on, dark enough to conceal him, and thick enough his additional weight wouldn’t be noticed.  A man in a long coat was the perfect candidate.

   The borrower managed his way onto the jacket without being noticed and hoped he was heading in a direction John was familiar with.  He was on the inside so it would be difficult to see him, but the coat was loose and flapped about.  John constantly readjusted his grip and was nervous about falling off, or hitting one of the legs and calling attention to himself.

   His borrower senses were driving him mad...

   Fortunately he made good time and the bean walked near a drain.  John hopped off and ducked into the shadows.  The grate wasn't far off, but he wanted to wait to scope it out first.  After he was sure he wouldn't be Seen he rappelled down into the cavernous silence below.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   Rory and John were hunting for supplies to make a good pulley, when Rory suddenly broke the silence.

   "John, I think I'll become an outtie."

   John nervously glanced at his long-time friend.  "Why do you say that?"  John wanted to be friends with Rory forever, he had never considered them ever living separately.  He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be an outtie though.

   "Well, remember the time we were outside and we ended up finding each other by chance?   It was a few years back, I wouldn't expect you to remember...  Well, I wasn't just looking for herbs..."  Rory didn't meet John's eyes, and John paused his search.  "There was a group of outties I had come across, they really just travelled around.  No home necessarily, just looking for trouble to make I suppose...  But I think-- well, I'm not quite sure what I think anymore."  He quickly went back to scouring for useable items.

   John's heart sank a little.  He knew exactly how Rory felt.  He took the hint and began searching for supplies.  Borrowing in an old house, with old beings, in an old environment can only bring so many thrills to someone who can read and write and knew what was out there.  He wanted to say so, but he let Rory continue.

   "They'd asked me to join them, John."

   John paused, wondering if he was meant to answer.  He decided so and asked the loaded question.

   "Well, what did you say?"

   Rory didn't respond for a moment, taking a deep breath.  "I said I couldn't leave just yet.  What with Mayan and Daisy being so young still...  They told me where to find their hideout, they called it 'The Nest,' and left.  I don't know John, I just-- everything here just seems so..."

   "Normal."

   Rory turned to John, a surprised but happy smile creeping on his lips.  "Yeah, you know."

   John turned back to the dust bunnies under the couch.  "Yeah, I know."

   The two continued about their business, mulling over the conversation in silence.

   They eventually came across an oddly shaped bead and a couple paperclips that would do the job, and headed back to the hole they'd come from.

   "Would you come with me?"

   John turned suddenly.  "What?"

   "Come with me.  To the Nest.  Two days from now?"

   John had heard Rory fine, but he'd wanted to buy some time.  The precious seconds slipped through his fingers before he even knew what to do with them.  He hadn't expected this to be thrust onto him so fast.  Leave Mum and Da?  Harry?  He was the glue that held the family together, he couldn't just up and leave.  Could he?

   "I-- I dunno."  The only words that would come out seemed to crush Rory, though he tried valiantly to hide it.  "Rory, I mean...  Harry's not doing so good, Mum might be _dying_...  I can't leave now Rory.  Not yet."

   The borrower seemed to deflate a little more.  "Yeah, I get it.  I have to leave though; I can't live like this anymore.  I'm sorry, John."

   They had reached the concealed passage at this point, and neither made a move to pull back the wallpaper.  Both of them just stared at the floral design quietly, swimming in their own sad thoughts.

   "Don't tell my parents.  Or anyone."

   Neither borrower turned to the other.  "Sure."

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   John travelled through the enormous tunnels, ambling toward the city, he hoped.  All the tunnels looked the same; a crack here or an old stain there being the defining features of the surprisingly dry underground.  These pipes in particular had been shut down in favor of new ones, and only rarely did human beans come down for maintenance.  However, borrowers were sure to maintain chinks in the walls which allowed them to pass between active and inactive lines easily.

   He didn't come across another soul, borrower or otherwise for a long time.  It left him with his wild thoughts, and eventually they travelled to his family.  How was Harry?  She hadn't taken it well when he'd finally left, and he was fairly certain her drinking problem hadn't gotten any better.

   Were Mum and Da still alive?  Had they stayed in the old house?  Probably; there wasn't much reason for them to leave.  What about the beans?  Was it still the same old, happy couple living in their large house, seemingly alone?  And the other borrower families?  Were they still around, borrowing from the old couple?  Were there new families taking advantage of the good pickings?  Who had emigrated?

   What about the Pantry family?

   John paused in his tracks, memories of his childhood flooding over him.  He smiled fondly as the years passed him by, all the shenanigans he and Rory had pulled.  Oh Rory...  He hadn't seen that boy in years.

   He resolved to write letters to everyone when he got to the city.  Maybe an outtie would be happening by the old place and drop them off for him.

   The tenseness inside him settled a bit at the resolution and he looked at the walls of the caverns, paying special attention to one mark in particular...

   A borrowing sign.

   He grinned wide and continued down the corridor with a hint of zest in his step, and a bit of urgency in his gait.  Back into the fray...

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   Two days later, John came home to his parents, who were obviously strained.  His mother turned and gave a tight smile, but his father didn't bother trying to light up his face.  John knew exactly what happened, but had to play dumb.

   "Everything alright?"

   Mrs. Watson's face fell, and she bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling.  Mr. Watson glanced at his wife to make sure she kept herself composed, and then addressed his son.

   "Rory left late last night.  Left a note about becoming an outtie.  John, I want you to realize what he did isn't right.  You don't just leave with any warnings, nobody can help you then.  Did you know about this?"

   John didn't have to feign shock.  Had he really just left without saying goodbye?  John hadn't seen him since the borrowing trip for pulley supplies, but he thought he might've bid farewell to John at least.  That, coupled with the fact that his father hadn't expressly _forbid_ him from ever moving out of the house, made it unnecessary to fake a reaction.

   "I had no idea."

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

    John found a decent chunk of concrete had been removed from a wall, leaving a nice crevice.  It was quite early in the morning at this point, and he'd been traveling for hours.  He'd lost sense of time though, what with no natural light coming down into the old tunnels.

   With the feeling that an important something was looming in the back of his mind, forgotten, John shrugged off his packs.  He felt a bit uneasy sleeping out in the relative open after all these years, but no beans would travel these particular caverns, and rats wouldn't usually come this far in the tunnels, as they were rather barren.  John still hadn't come across any recognizable places yet, and it worried him, but only slightly.  He could only make it so far before he was bound to see something familiar.  He had travelled a lot during his war days, so that probably wouldn't be an issue for too long.

   The tunnels were dry, but they were still chilly.  He made a sort of bed with his bags stuffed into the crevice and a handkerchief he had borrowed a long time ago from Mrs. Hudson as a blanket, and threw on one extra jumper.  Snuggling down into the most comfortable position he could manage, he purposefully slowed his breathing and tried to relax.

   Try as he might, his spot was warm well before he felt anywhere near sleep.  His mind raced thinking of all the time he was wasting sitting here when he could be making his way towards recognizable passages, how many days his trip might take, how long the small supply of food would last him...

   He shook off his thoughts and eventually fell into a light sleep.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   Nobody was surprised when he seemingly shut down for a while.  Not even John could say he hadn't seen it coming.  What he hadn't necessarily predicted was his sudden urge to be alone.  He didn't want the looks of pity, or sympathetic words of encouragement.  He wanted isolation.

   His parents seemed to realize what was happening though, and when John brought up leaving from under his parent's metaphorical roof, they sent him with their blessing.  After all, it was just a few rooms away.

   John moved underneath the floor boards in the guest bedroom, which used to be the eldest sister bean's room.  It was a very simple bachelor pad, even for borrower standards.  He only bothered to form one room, as he didn't expect, nor desire any company.  A bed, a small pantry, a makeshift hat stand, and two large medicine bottle caps were all he had.  He left his clothes in the bag he'd brought.

   Not having the heart to go out borrowing for himself, John had nearly starved the first week alone.  It felt almost like his best friend had died, not just left.  John knew he moved out mostly because he was grieving, but he was also trying to slowly pry himself out of the house.  If he could establish independence close to home, the transition to becoming a nomad wouldn't be such a hard blow.

   Eventually John pulled out of his depression enough to get supplies for himself.  It wouldn't do any good sitting around and starving to death.  He continued his hollow existence for a couple of weeks until he decided he had put off his studies long enough, and dove headfirst back into them.

   Soon after that he got back into the swing of things.  He even started reading again, though it definitely didn't feel the same without his partner in crime.  He knew Rory must've been out there somewhere waiting for John to finally come visit...

   As it turned out, Rory had left him a roughly sketched map with directions to get where the younger borrower remembered The Nest was located.  He'd found it when he reread one of Rory's favorite books, Aesop's Fables.  There was no note, but John got the message loud and clear.

   And three years later, after he'd turned twenty two, he was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MMMMMMmmmmmmmmm... Finally! Send my thy hate, preferably by carrier pigeon! It's taken forever, but here it is!
> 
> So as you may or may not know, I'm on an indefinite hiatus. Not dropping this story, but I have a lot of stuff going on in real life that requires constant attention, so bear with me please! While I'm away though, this will hopefully go through a HUGE overhaul. Get some stuff fixed up.
> 
> Speaking of fixing things...
> 
> I have a wonderful Beta! *they shall receive all of the awards for their patience and the ability to actually read and edit the jumbles of words I send. Not giving out a name yet, but I will as soon as I hear back from them! (My email is garbage, it likes to not send and receive important things...)
> 
> But anyhow, for updates on progress and things like that, check out my tumblr! Thanks for the reviews, kudos, follows and hits in general, it boosts my ego!
> 
> Kudos are love, Comments are life!  
> -JB


	6. The Rat Piece to the Sherlock Puzzle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!
> 
> I decided to update today because I'm feeling strangely patriotic (and it's been two months... whoops.)
> 
> This chapter is unfortunately unbeta'd, as my email is a piece of trash. However, you may reread the story on the Archive of Our Own site and see that it has indeed been tweaked a little. That's all my doing as well, but is also unbeta'd; I just needed to touch up some glaringly obvious disagreements between chapters :)
> 
> Read away dears, and Happy Fourth!

   John made up his mind to find The Nest that Rory had told him about so long ago.  From what the note showed, it may take John a couple days to arrive, even if he knew exactly how to get there.

   His parents were much more accepting of the whole ordeal than he expected.  Unfortunately, Harry made up for that in her reaction.

   "What the hell John?  This place is a borrowing paradise!  Plenty of rooms, lots of girls for you to settle down with...  Unless of course you've been holding out on me, I wouldn't be surprised.  There's almost zero risk of being Seen!  Why would you ever need to leave this place?"  The family had quickly banded together to shush the ranting for fear of the beans hearing through the wall.  Harry lived with her parents still, but she was to move out soon with her fiancée, Clara Cellar.

   He'd sighed and rubbed his face.  He knew she wouldn't see things from his point of view, but it didn't make facing her wrath any easier.  Even after nearly two days of consoling her and trying to make her understand, she gave him the cold shoulder.  Nothing for it then John supposed.

   John said his final goodbyes a week and a half later.

   He packed enough for a week if not more.  The young borrower wasn't used to hunting or borrowing outside and had no idea what to expect.  It proved a good idea though, as he barely had to snatch anything from unsuspecting beans.

   It took him much longer than he expected though.  Nearly two weeks in fact.  Surprisingly enough, John wasn't nearly as bothered when he walked above ground as he thought he'd be.  For years he'd read about human beans and their lives, but seeing it was something different entirely.

   Everything towered over John, and he marveled at nearly everything he came across.  Who wouldn't?  Grass that had missed a mowing sometimes came over his head, a fire hydrant thicker than any tree you've ever come across, larger-than-life cars thundering past constantly.  Nothing had ever made John feel this insignificant.  Not even staring into the sitting room from the windowsill was anywhere near this intimidating.  Though he wasn't actually _Seen_ there had been many close calls.  He'd been nearly killed by a dog and subsequently was nearly crushed accidentally by its owner.

   Once he got to the underground empty tunnels though, it felt only slightly less threatening.  It was like the walls at home, except they were far too open and were made of cold concrete.

   But on the eleventh day, he finally made it.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

    _Rats._

_Rats everywhere._

_John had seen this before and knew exactly how it would play out.  He knew his role, and what would happen when he looked here, or lifted his gaze for a moment._

_Something felt wrong though...  Something was out of place._

_There was blood everywhere, but especially on his hands.  He held a wound on his friend closed and called for the one medic they had in their rag-tag team who had supplies for this sort of thing.  He wouldn't come in time though.  And John knew it.  John remembered and projected it like a movie in his dream.  He was simply reliving the horrors, but he couldn't stop it, pause it, or change anything.  He knew, he had tried so many times.  He knew nothing could be done.  He knew better._

_And so, despite the inevitable, John dutifully held the wound shut, as he looked up in time to see a soldier some distance from him get his arm severely dislocated.  The rat held a large chunk of flesh in its teeth and the arm swung, suddenly foreign to the rest of the body, awkwardly spurting blood.  He turned his attention to the soldier beneath his hands, trying to ground him by talking._

_Suddenly, something went awry and the rats cleared to a side.  What was happening?_

_John broke from what he was supposed to do.  The memory told him to watch the soldier close his eyes and slip away, but he looked up confused as to why the dream changed._

_A black pair of expensive bean shoes caught his attention, and he looked up at the horrifying image of Sherlock Holmes.  His dead-looking eyes stared at John with a surprisingly fierce intensity.  The soldier was no longer on John's lap and he scrambled to his feet,_ _backing away quickly._

_He turned and rushed into what was now the living room of 221B, dodging rats, and searching for his companions to no avail.  He made the mistake of looking back at Sherlock, who held a beaker in his pale hands, being burned through by a powerful acid.  The bean walked towards the empty mantle, eyes still on John._

_John continued to run, but his legs started sinking into the wood floor, and soon, rat after rat was scurrying past him toward the impossibly huge bean._

_The beaker burst, sending the corrosive concoction to the floor and all over Sherlock's hands and several rats.  John struggled to get out of the hardwood, but it sucked against his calves like mud, and he was quickly rooted to the spot._

_Checking on Sherlock again, he looked on horrified as the bean's bloody hands reached for the skull that had appeared, blood dropping into the sockets.  The rats began to pile on top of each other, crawling on the detective and rapidly rising.  Sherlock's hands had been practically reduced to bone with bits of veiny flesh clinging to them, and the rats had clambered up to his waist by then.  John finally realized they were ripping through the bean's skin and muscles, leaving very little meat behind them._

_Sherlock returned his gaze to the borrower suddenly, and threw the skull at breakneck speed toward John.  It hurtled though the air and John braced himself, crying out one last time--_

   It was the sound of John's own shouting that woke him up.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   John meandered though the concrete refuge, getting tenser by the minute.  Everything was simply massive.  And he could hear _everything_.  From a rat scurrying in the darkness he couldn't see yet to bean voices far down a different tunnel entirely, to a bug stuttering behind him.  It made John wonder what they could hear from him.  Suddenly he was just a little _too_ big.  He felt like an absolute oaf, stepping quietly, and still hearing the echoes of the crunching grainy floor beneath him.  Even his breathing was far too loud for his taste.

   Not to mention he could barely see anything.  He hadn't brought a light with him, not having anything but matches for a small fire, so the only light was the occasional torch that beans had installed.  Those just made everything intimidating, because when the tunnels were so expansive and tall, John could only vaguely make out the ceiling stretched far above anything he had seen in the walls.

   Then he finally made it.  A dimly lit, warm area where he saw someone meander by.  Not a bean-- someone his own size!  He was coming out of a crack in the wall, looking the other direction, probably for danger.

   "Hey!"  John shouted and waved an arm excitedly.  After so long in the bean world it was a relief to see another sentient person that wasn't going to crush him.

   The young man quickly turned to the sound, on high alert, but instantly relaxed at the sight of John's warm greeting.  He returned the wave and hurriedly jogged the short distance separating them.  "You one of the new recruits?"

   "I suppose I am!  I mean-- at least I think so.  A friend told me about a place-- The Nest?"  John was pulling out his map to show the borrower, but quickly realized he wouldn't need it when he heard the response.

   "Then you're not far!  I was just out for scout duty, but there are three at a time, so we're fine.  I can take us there.  They call me Terrence, Terry for short if ya like."

   "I, yeah...  John Watson."  John went in for a handshake, but the other borrower's hand was closed and raised like he was holding a hammer.  They stared at each other for a moment when Terrence broke into a smile.

   "Ah, we got innie meat!"  He grinned wide in good nature, closing John's hand and hitting the top with his own fist twice.  "You're gunna need to know that if you run into anybody who’s anybody around here.  The outtie handshake: your first lesson John!  Let's see how fast you learn."  With his stupid grin still plastered on his face he turned and jogged back to the crevice, beckoning John to follow.

  They didn't speak much while they hurried along, but the electric excitement they both felt, Terry for a new member and John to see Rory, was enough to make up for it.  That of course, was pretty much the only thing on John's mind as they jogged briskly to the city.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   John shivered, even through all his layers.  After all, it wasn't just the cold that was chilling him to his bones...

   He'd eaten a bit of the cracker he'd packed with some cheese and water.  Now all bundled up again, he set out for familiar territory.

   After a few hours he found something familiar.  At first he'd been so deep in thought over his dream that he'd nearly missed it.  He'd managed to wander into a tunnel he had guarded only once while 'in service,' but his spirits didn't lift as much as they should have.  He was glad sure, but he hadn't had a nightmare for about a week, and they'd come back, evolved into a new terror.  He wasn't sure what caused the step back in progress, but he tried not to dwell on it.

   Well, _tried_ but failed.

   He picked up his pace a little though, since he knew he could reach the city within two hours if not less.  Soon he came across a borrower scout, who didn't pay much attention to John outside of smiling politely.  On the inside though, it felt incredibly good to see another borrower again after so many years.  The last time he'd seen one of his own kind was a few years back when the last borrower family had emigrated out of Mrs. Hudson's place.  Seeing another intelligent being that couldn't crush you with a simple mis-step was a breath of fresh air for John, and he soldiered on.

   When he eventually came to the city gates, he didn't recognize anybody on patrol.  At all.  John was both glad and slightly dampened by the lack of familiar faces; on the one hand he wanted to catch up, see how some of his friends were doing, and relax for a bit.  On the other hand, he wasn't keen on the inevitable nagging at the back of everyone's mind about the war, why John had up and left, how he had been doing with his injuries, and so on.

   He passed through with no issues, giving his name and rank and checking out against the city records.  In fact, they welcomed him with open arms as he'd expected.

   He did come across one familiar face eventually; Mike Stamford.  John had begun to train a group of peers in the army before he left, and Mike was one of them.  They toured the city together for the day, and John was amazed to find so many shops.  He hadn't really visited the heart of the place during the war, and he was a bit shocked by the many vendors and their wares.  He'd have to come back on more than just a business trip.  He should have enough trading papers left over from his service to get necessities for the time being and leave.

    _Anyhow, I've got to start asking around about rats, but where the hell do I begin?_

   The most logical answer came when Stamford invited him to go out drinking that evening.  John hadn't been in the city long, and he figured he could stay just for one night, so he agreed.  He met many new people and came across some familiar faces.  While they were all a little loose-lipped he brought up his predicament as vaguely as possible.  Of course he left out many details, such as the fact that Sherlock Holmes existed and that John was, in reality, risking a lot.

   One younger borrower had his solution in the form of a rat farm.  An older man kept rats for whatever purposes they were needed, and apparently, John wasn't the first with this kind of problem.  John took down the information and planned to consult this farmer borrower in the morning.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   John had been introduced to a couple more borrowers before he met anyone who could help him track Rory down.

   One of the tallest borrowers John had ever met smiled in recognition of the name, and took John to a more secluded area.

   When the brutish borrower spoke it was on the side of caution, causing John to raise his guard slightly.  "Well John, when did you last see Rory?  Before he became a brother I assume?"

   John licked his lips, seemingly trying to blink away the slight offence he felt before responding.  "Yeah, he--" _he was MY brother before he left for you lot._  "Before he joined yeah."

   "And he probably asked you to come with him right?"

   "He did, but he understood _why_ I couldn't go at the time."

   "And he hasn't contacted you at all since then?"

   "Ah, no he hasn't.  Are you trying to insinuate something?"

   "I'm trying to figure out who you are.  He didn't typically talk about his past; none of us do really...  But you wouldn't by chance happen to read, would you?"

   John had frozen though, everything the monstrous man said had been blacked out except for one word.

  _Didn't._

   "What do you mean he _didn't_ talk about the past?"

   The taller borrower suddenly stood much straighter, eyes widened, and took an almost wary step back.  "Aren't you here because of the letter?"

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   John quickly awoke from another night terror, and of course it had involved the detective again.  Typical.  His limp had made a bit of a return yesterday too, and his cane had been all but forgotten at home.  Damn.  In the morning John had successfully avoided a hangover from the previous night, and he set out rather early.  He had told his friends his goodbyes last night so there was no need to see them again.  The fact that he was far too excited about seeing a rat farm to stay asleep for very long was also a big reason for his early rising.  

   He limped through the city, eventually renting a borrower-drawn cart to give his leg a rest.  They reached the outskirts within the hour and John started relaying the directions he'd been given to the place.  As they were approaching, John surveyed the spot with interest.  He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but this hadn't really been it.

   It was like a bean barn, or at least what John had seen in pictures.  A big red edifice that could probably house at least twenty rats at a time stood tall and proud, and a smaller place was next to it that was probably a home for the borrower.  There was also actual food being grown; bottles, boxes, and other pieces of junk had been engineered to hold dirt and plants.  A small hose ran through all of them, the plants that needed the least water near the end of the hose, and the thirstiest plants near the water source.  The whole place was a bit ingenious.

   He didn't stay long though.  The borrower showed John around and gave him two rats that should do the job.  Two males, as John didn't need one getting pregnant.  He was warned that though they were used to each other here, they would probably take new territory in 221 and may kill each other for space.  John didn't care as long as it was enough to fool Sherlock.

   Going home, John finally got up the courage to ride one of the rats.  He could only just shake the fact that these rats were fairly docile, and not blood-hungry killers like he had fought so many years ago.  In fact, they sort of acted like large dogs.  They were rather affectionate, and John wondered why the farmer hadn't given him something a little less... _friendly_.  He had already prepped himself for the journey ahead though, and had hired a soldier to help on the journey.  And so the odd four travelled through the long, echoing caverns.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   John had to be alone.  This couldn't be happening.  Rory was never careless, he would _not_ have been so careless.  The larger borrower looked at him with sympathy after the story had been retold, and he left John to mourn his loss.

   John's back hit the concrete wall much harder than it should have.  He winced a bit in pain, but it felt right.  There was no way he could be hurting this much with no physical repercussions.  He felt the ragged grain through his shirt as his legs slowly gave, sliding him into a sitting position.  He took deep breaths, but they changed rather soon to quiet, choked sobs.

   Rory had been flattened by a speeding cab.  They'd been crossing a rather deserted road to avoid a particularly rat-infested part of the tunnels, and thank God the bean hadn't stopped to look at the rat it ran over, but-- Rory.  Rory had died for whatever cause this was-- this obliteration of carnivorous rodents; and to save lives, he had given his own.

   John sat on that wall for a long time.  If he had gone with Rory in the first place, this would never have happened.  John could've gone alongside, or surely used medical knowledge to-- no, he had been flattened they said.  They could barely scrape his body off the ground after the ordeal, and one that helped with the cleanup had committed suicide from the flashbacks of that day.  Maybe it was better he hadn't been there...

   But what if he could've saved his best friend?  His brother.  John could be stopped him...

   Nothing could sway the borrower from his crouched position on that wall for a long time.

   John made up his mind after nearly seven hours staring off into space.  He couldn't just let this go, there was no way something rooted so deep in him could be so easily forgotten.

_Brother.  My brother is dead, and I could've stopped it.  I could've stopped it...  Nothing could hurt us.  Banded together forever, no matter what.  And I left him on his own.  If I had been here this never would've happened, Rory, why didn't you wait?  We could be done this together.  Invincible by my side.  Damn it Rory, this must've been important.  And what's important to Rory Pantry is important to John Watson._

   Condolences were simply brushed aside as he stalked back to Terry, determination hardening his features.

   "Where can I enlist?"

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   John came back mostly underground as it would be hard to guide these rather large beasts up top without being spotted.  He'd gotten a rough map from a fellow soldier and from what it said; he was only a street away from home.  His borrower companion stayed silent, apparently preferring to remain stoic during the entire trip.

   He'd slept with the rats as they couldn't possibly make the whole trip in a single day.  Well, maybe if his limp hadn't returned with such a vengeance they might've.  Honestly, the warmth from the creatures was appreciated, but it absolutely _intensified_ his nightmares.  He didn't sleep much, but dreaming about rodents that come up to your chest suddenly turning on you and biting your arm clean off will do that to a person.

   The four approached the grate and with the help of rope, a basket, an empty spool, wire, and a bit of ingenuity, they hoisted both John and the rats to the surface.  And with a final smile and wave, John limped to the comfortable and familiar walls of 221, rats in tow.  John could feel a smirk rising from the depths of his chest and spreading to his lips.  This was going to at the very least be entertaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, a shoutout to my gloriously patient and ever-cherished Beta, Little Soldier Mine! Find them on Fanfiction.net here: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/1834258/
> 
> (Check out her TMNT fanfic Twisted Perception, I personally love it!)
> 
> I will hopefully see your shining faces again soon, until next chapter!
> 
> Kudos are love, Comments are life!
> 
> -JB


	7. The Rat Piece Is Placed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also can be titled, "John Gets Dirt on the Detective."

   John sat, quietly humming to himself as he fixed a cuppa.  It was one of those rare moments when Sherlock was out of the flat and John could brew in relative peace.  It was now a rarity, and John would be damned if he didn't enjoy the brief respite from the chorus of, "Bored, bored, BORED!"

   He had come home and released the rats downstairs, plugging up the hole in the brick wall again until the time he could be sure his rats wouldn't leave.  He'd gone upstairs, but something felt wrong.  His Sense had tingled to life when he got close to the wall against the couch, indicating that the bean was probably either sitting or lounging on the furniture.  He also detected a slight rumbling, but it was too long and quiet to be bean snoring...

   When he walked all the way around the living room, staying in the walls of course, and peeked through the mantle hole, his heart stopped.  There, nudging the hand of a rather piqued Sherlock, was a tabby cat.  Well, a kitten really...  The creature was fairly small still, but even a kitten can kill.  It would just be much less... _efficient_.

   Fortunately for the borrower the cat began living downstairs part time, as it wasn't catching anything upstairs.  It was in 221A keeping Mrs. Hudson company now, further proving that it was _not_ a ratter.  Both rats, affectionately dubbed Rocky and Rhodes, remained completely unharmed.  That useless tabby cat was driving Sherlock mad as well, since the bean was home all the time and the beast nearly always demanded affection.  It was in the detective's way constantly; Sherlock had nearly kicked it across the sitting room on accident once, and John had bit on his knuckles to keep from giggling like a giddy schoolboy.  John had learned its name was Toby when Sherlock cursed at it.  And when he talked to it.  It was also discovered that apparently beforehand, when John thought he was talking to himself, Sherlock had been conversing with the skull on the mantle.  It made John's spine feel a little cold thinking about the monologues that must've happened while he listened in, completely unaware of the morbid act.  The rantings of a maniac.

   The detective hadn't gotten very many cases as of late-- well, he had gotten _cases_ , but none that caught his fancy apparently.  So he had been arguably stuck in 221B for nearly a week, and today had been in his mind palace for at least six hours.  He'd suddenly gotten up, determined and silent, about a half hour ago.  John had no idea where the bean had gone, or when he would be back, but he was grateful for the break.

   John sipped his earl grey appreciating the warmth, and humming aloud just because he could.  Sherlock had recently taken to the annoying habit of playing the third movement of Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_ over and over, causing poor John to nearly lose it and saw those damn horse hairs in half to shut the bean up.  Fortunately after the most recent loop lasting about an hour and a half long he'd stopped just before John had gotten up to head downstairs for the evening.  If he was that obnoxious here, John pondered, what kinds of terrors was he wreaking out there?  John shook his head, trying to clear all thoughts of that strange man from his cranium.  This was his well deserved time alone.  Deserved because he hadn't done something purely evil to dampen that beans energy.  Just a slip of some depressants into his tea could've given that curly head something to take his mind out of whatever headspace he was in now.  Or at least slow him down.  Or give him a sample to analyze and deduce over-- yeah, maybe it was a good thing his tea remained untouched.

   John decided he would go downstairs and see his rats later when Sherlock eventually came back to ruin his peace.  For now though, he switched his tune to something he didn't know the name of.  The detective had played it a long time ago, John remembered the piece fondly.  It was a simple, pretty song, much shorter than what he usually played, and John had picked it up quickly.  He put his things away and looked around at the dusty place.  Maybe he should do some sweeping too.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   By the time the bean came back, John had already begun carefully descending his staple ladder system to the lower flat.  He held his torch he'd gotten from the city tightly, the rungs still making him a bit nervous whenever he made a step.  He was getting too old for this...  He decided he would use the elevator coming back up though, as this was more to get used to navigating the hard way in case the other option needed to be fixed or something.

   He came downstairs and was relieved at the relative quiet.  Sherlock still stomped around upstairs, but it was much easier to ignore the sounds.  Rocky, the lighter colored and more affectionate of the two rats, skittered across John's vision.  A lopsided grin crept onto John's face as he clicked his tongue once, catching the beast’s attention.  Its claws tapped against the ground as it bounded to the borrower, curling against the warm body.  John let out a low chuckle and scratched Rocky affectionately.  He continued on, with Rocky following close behind, excited about the borrower's visit.  They moved towards John's old place, which he honestly hadn't been to in a long time, and John settled onto a couch he'd left behind.  The beast snuggled against the much smaller frame of its sort of master, nuzzling onto his lap as John scratched between its shoulder blades.  The borrower was ready for bed to be honest, but he knew Sherlock wouldn't quiet down for another while, so he stayed with Rocky, and together they waited for Rhodes patiently.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   John awoke with a start, and realized that while Rocky was still resting on his lap, Rhodes had yet to make an appearance.  And Sherlock was being quiet...  God, how long had he been out then?  He listened a moment more before realizing Mrs. Hudson still had her telly going, so it couldn't have been much after eight.  Could Sherlock have possibly fallen asleep?

   Stretching out his back, earning him a couple of satisfying pops, he nudged Rocky off himself.  The pair slowly and clumsily got up off the couch, all arms legs feet and tail.  The pair headed out fairly quietly from John's previous home.  Just as John decided waiting around for Rhodes wasn't in the cards tonight, the little devil ran up from behind them.  John gave him a quick scratch, but soon the two rats scurried off, probably to find food; so he headed for the elevator.

   He was actually a good deal proud of the little contraption he had built for himself; it had become indispensable when he got around with a cane, and now it was useful when he regularly travelled from floor to floor.

   It was really just a basic pulley system with weights; the platform made of craft Popsicle sticks could probably stand to be replaced soon.  It wasn't very big, even for John, but it was only him using it, so it sufficed.  He had borrowed four string spools and an old, forgotten ball of yarn from Mrs. Hudson during his first months at 221, and with a bit of ingenuity had come up with the elevator.

   The ride up was smooth, John didn't have to out too much effort into pulling the bright green yarn to get the pulleys to work; the weights seemed fine too.

   He stepped off, listening for any telltale signs to signify that Sherlock was up and about.  No sounds, no chemical smells yet...  Had the bean really just gone off to bed?  It seemed far too lucky for John so he checked the elevator one last time, then quietly headed to the hole above the mantle.

   The entire time John walked over to the well-concealed hole he didn't hear a peep from the house.  It would be a waste of time if Sherlock was actually in bed sleeping he realized...  Oh well, maybe he'd be able to scout out a book if the detective wasn't anywhere in view.  That would be a treat; John hadn't had an interesting read in a while.

   His mind made up, the borrower gently pushed at the wallpaper covering the missing chunk of drywall, and still hearing nothing, cautiously peeked through.

   There lay the enormous genius, draped over the couch dramatically.  Lying on his back, one arm hanging off the couch, eyes closed, and breathing evenly.  That didn't seem right.   _If Sherlock intentionally falls asleep, it's always in his room.  If he'd fallen asleep during an experiment the git would probably be on the table.  Why is he here of all places?_  He stared another minute or two before deciding he was overreacting, and scanned the area for an interesting read.

    ** _Recognising a Liar_** _, read that one already. **The Central Nervous System; an In-Depth Study** , not in the mood.  **The Chemical Significance of Emotions** , why do you even have that?  **Chemistry** , boring title._  John stuck to the books that were already out in the open, so if he had to make a quick getaway, at least it wouldn't be _too_ conspicuous.  He tried to see the title of the book underneath the box and papers on the little coffee table in front of the couch.  He gave up on that one after a couple seconds of frustration and looked at the other one next to it beneath the empty syringe.

   Wait what?

   John stared at the needle, and the pieces fell together pretty quickly.

    _No, Sherlock Holmes a druggie?  Nah, can't be, he wouldn't waste his precious brain cells on something so-- so petty.  So risky; especially working with the Yard_.  Yet the more he thought about it, the more sense it made.  The relaxed state Sherlock seemed to be in, the fact that he was so antsy right before leaving and suddenly returning subdued...  Oh Lord, _Sherlock is a druggie._   

   John took a step back into the darkness, allowing the wallpaper to stiffly fall back in place.   _How could I have been so blind, of course.  He rambles on about his genius, performs mad experiments; I've been dealing with a psychopathic, antisocial, drug using and possibly abusing, bean.  Why didn't I see it?_ John knew he should be appalled, but surprisingly, he wasn't.  Somehow it didn't shock him that his bean would do something like that.  He experimented on himself, abused his body, and covered himself in nicotine patches when he wasn't actively smoking a cigarette, why wouldn't he be a drug user?

   John descended to floor be f2f in the wall, puzzling over the situation and wondering what had gotten into him.  He didn't _approve_ of the habit, heavens no.  It just-- didn't shock him as much as it would a normal borrower.

   And drugs were about to become the least of John's worries.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   A few days later the inevitable happened.

   John had heard his bean rushing about frantically when Mrs. Hudson came fluttering up the stairs, "Sherlock, one of your--"

   The detective cut her off abruptly, "Yes, yes I'm coming to take care of that right now.  I'll be right down."  To John's amazement the colossus sounded rather excited.  The happy kind of rushed speaking hadn't been heard from the bean for days as he hadn't taken a case in a long while, complaining that they were, ‘So dull Anderson could figure it out.’  Interest egging him on, the borrower headed to the spot Sherlock would most likely go when he came up from downstairs; the barely contained joy sounded like an experiment gone right, so logically he would bring his findings to the kitchen.

   John was right in his assumptions of course, but hadn't made it to a convenient hole before he heard the beans clambering up the stairs.

   "Oh Sherlock, it was _in my home_ , why couldn't it be here?"

   "Brown rats tend to stay on ground levels Mrs. Hudson, but I assure you, it will stay up here from this point onwards."

   John froze as a dangerous mixture of thoughts ran through head.   _The plan is working, he's got a rat!  Christ, I didn't think it would work, but there he is all full of himself because he's finally caught something._

_Oh no, he's got a rat.  Who'd he get?_

_Sherlock Holmes you've done it!  I can stay here for a while, I just have to lay low until you get the other, obliterate remaining traces of myself after they're both gone..._

_He's got Rocky.  Rhodes has a slightly deeper squeak and was never this vocal.  Oh God, no, Rocky..._

   John didn't even realize he'd stopped moving through the dark, unlit walls until he pulled himself out of his thoughts.

   He trudged forwards to the cabinets beneath the sink looking at where Sherlock's legs would probably be.  He watched through the sliver of visibility the gap between the cabinet door and the frame provided; not risking moving the veil to get a better view, and almost too numb to pay attention to anything but the frantic squeaking and scratching of his favorite rat.

   The bean set the cage on the island in the middle of the kitchen, and John watched the back of his legs, hairs on edge.

   The bean didn't really move from the table; there were already several journals, pens and such lying around, he didn't have to go searching for them.  After the detective stopped making a racket with his supplies John's hearing was dominated by the sound of Rocky skittering around the metal trap.  The bean seemed to be very still in his legs and John dared to peek up at the bean's head.  He was holding a thick glove in one hand and was scrawling lazily on a leaf of paper with the other, no doubt noting what small details his eyes could catch merely from first observation.

   This was too much.

   John stepped back, taking a deep breath.  He screwed his eyes shut, attempting to block out the metallic scratching and the movement of the bean.  He couldn't stay for this.  He headed back the way he came, defeated and shaken.  John was absolutely sleeping somewhere downstairs tonight.  The old couch would do.

   He walked into the entryway to his home, grabbing some food for later, when he heard Rocky's squeaks intensify and the straining noise of what he assumed was the trap door.  He snatched his satchel with what little he had in it and made his way to the ladder.

   He tried his best to ignore the noises Rocky made all the way to the lower level, and he didn't have to try to ignore the bean; he was eerily quiet.  The sounds of his rat's suffering and panic seemed almost just as loud downstairs, though John was sure his nerves were just making him hyper-sensitive.

   As he dragged his feet to the old gate, which was in disrepair and now always propped open.  He held on to it a moment, feeling its solid, reassuring steadiness and calming himself a little with it.  He was almost shocked when he approached the couch only to find Rhodes waiting there.  The mass of dark fur was shivering in the corner the couch and wall created, eyes glinting dangerously.  When he made eye contact Rhodes shifted to a more aggressive stance, and John quickly looked down.  The borrower took a tentative step forward, resulting in a more exaggerated and vocal threat from the rat.

   Upstairs it had to be then.  There was nothing else for it; the couch was the only comfortable piece of furniture left behind, he was too lost in thought to borrow, and he couldn't think of anything that could easily be transported downstairs.

  Funny, he made his own bed, and now he had to sleep in it.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

    _It was very dark that night, and John couldn't seem to relax enough to properly fall asleep.  Just when he was at the precipice staring into the open arms of slumber, the desperate clawing would pull him back to reality.  He had to do **something** right?  Yeah Sherlock would probably be scratching his head in the morning, but he didn't care anymore.  He would leave if necessary; he just couldn't take it quietly another minute longer._

_He grabbed his rope and borrowing bag; he was going out._

_Carefully he snuck all the way through the walls, around the enormous kitchen counter, up a chair leg, and on the flat hard tabletop.  His tunnel vision only allowed him to focus on Rocky’s imprisonment, and he moved stealthily around the debris.  He approached a door that he hadn't remembered seeing on the cage, but was grateful for._

_He used all his weight to pull on the spring-loaded handle, but Rocky kept making too much noise.  He was excited and scurried from one side of the cage to the other.  John reached his arm through to comfort the rat, but it was too far away.  He decided the door was much more important and kept on pulling at it._

_Finally, **finally** , he managed to release the catch and it swung open a little with him still clutching the frame.  It let out a small squeak but John was quick to hop off and silence it._

_Rocky didn't approach the door._

_John made a singular clicking sound, but Rocky seemed to jump away from it, not move toward it.  John tried once more with the same results.  Becoming desperate he stepped gingerly onto the metal cage, watching with shock as the rat stopped and sat in the corner furthest from the borrower._

_John had no time, they had to get out **now** ; he made quiet, soothing noises and reached for the rat again, but it continued to shy from him.  John took another step inside, and then another; still not close enough to touch the rat, but slow enough he didn't startle Rocky either._

_Suddenly the squeak of the cage door sounded sharply, and John whipped around to it now closed--_

_By a massive hand..._

_John looked in horror at his bean, the light casting unappealing shadows across his angular face.  John froze as the bright eyes seemed to burn right through him, a thousand things obviously flying through his mind at a high speed.  John could practically hear every single one of them, " **What is that?  Is it safe?  Some kind of escaped experiment?  Is it sentient?  How does a human body function properly at such a small size?  It must not be a human body; will an anesthetic work of such a tiny thing?** "_

_The bean blinked once, twice, but John was frozen to the spot.  His borrower sense didn't bother to make an appearance even now, and John nearly panicked.  God, even after all this planning, all these precautions, all the time he took making sure he wasn't seen...  Crushed, useless, all for nothing.  He was still Seen.  No, worse.  He was **caught**._

_He watched Sherlock put on the same thick gardening glove from earlier on his right hand, not taking his cold eyes off John for a second.  The left hand reached for the door and John's feet were suddenly unglued from the floor, taking a couple of surprisingly solid steps back to the opposite wall._

_The bean reached in with his gloved hand, obviously for borrower and not rat.  John's heart couldn't handle the slow speed; the appendage was practically crawling toward him, reminding him much of a spider.  He gripped a wire behind him tightly and once he had the physical anchor, his mind soared off. **Maybe I can talk to him, will he just write that down?  It may give me time to run.  He's acting too calm, oh God he's Seen a borrower before. What did he do to the last one?  Oh God I'm gunna be sick.  What if I screamed at him then made a break for it?  I feel as if I'll scream either way…**_

_The detective took paused and watched John very nearly hyperventilating before him and pulled his hand back minutely, just watching.  John closed his eyes, attempting to calm himself, but it wasn't really working well.  Suddenly there was scratching._

_The hell, scratching?_

_John dared to glance up, not at a gloved hand anymore, but to both Sherlock's hands being occupied by furiously scratching up a storm with notes.  Yes, if only John could make it to his borrowing rope, still close by, and get to the cabinet beneath the sink, he was golden._

_John took a final breath and burst towards the cage door.  His freedom was in sight, he could practically taste it; Rocky would be left of course but now there was nothing for it.  The bean was too fast it seemed._

_Before he even crossed half the distance of the cage he saw the glove coming, maybe if he threw Sherlock off he could still make it..._

_He gave in to his instincts and shouted._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! Johnny boy, run!
> 
> So I'm posting this (really late I may add...) to celebrate over 1,000 views on FF.net and AO3! Unfortunately you can kind of tell my Muse went AWOL on me, but I got some stuff done anyways ;)
> 
> Thanks everyone for everything. Kudos, views, comments, and your patience and enthusiasm are all so appreciated! More to come... uhm... not very soon! Yeah, who knows when I'll find that little inspiration imp...
> 
> Kudos are love, Comments are life!
> 
> -JB


	8. A New Complication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... So uhm... Yeah.  
>  Some of you may really kinda sorta flip when you read the first few paragraphs... I'll erm... Address that in the end notes, but uh yeah enjoy.

   Sherlock was pulled from his mind palace to the sound of that damned rat scratching around the cage still.  He had to quiet it before it started to rouse Mrs. Hudson.  He took an old tee shirt and made his way to the kitchen, pausing at the sight before him.

   It stood on two legs, its light hair making it obvious even in the relative darkness, clawing desperately at the latch.  He watched a little while before it was nearly successful.  He took a step forward, but stopped again when it walked around the cage once more just to pull at the entrance again.  This was a very interesting turn of events, it seemed more intelligent than Sherlock first assumed.

   It didn't seem to pay him much heed when he approached, placing the shirt on the table and slipping the glove that had been discarded on the table on his left hand.  It receded further in the cage, not really acknowledging Sherlock until he went for the cage door.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   John awoke with a start staring into darkness, his voice still ringing clear through the halls of his home.   _A dream, it was just a dream.  You're fine, untouched; borrowing Sense still intact._

   John sat soberly for a moment, taking deep, calming breaths.  Something was very wrong.  He hadn't had any of his nightmares since before going to the city.  Was he relapsing into depression?  Whatever happened, it was only getting worse each day.  It was a small change but John noticed it had gotten worse with time.  What was wrong?

   His throat was ridiculously dry, and he sat up quietly, rubbing his eyes and swinging his legs over the bed.  Something was   wrong; the mood seemed to have shifted in the silence following his awakening.  He sat quietly a moment and he became aware of a tingling starting at the base of his skull.

 

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   The light rat seemed to suddenly become aware of his presence and jumped even further away, obviously it was distracted with something.  Sherlock reached in, pulling out the singular captive with his gloved hand.  He placed the shirt on the bottom of the cage, mentally making a note to check how or even _if_ it made a nest.

   He took a good look at the rodent before placing back in its confinement; it wasn't as dull as Sherlock thought it might be, but it certainly wasn't smart enough to stay hidden away so well.  There was at least one more rat somewhere, but even one rat would be much more obvious than the scarce evidence that he found suggested.  They had been in 221 for at least a month now, and he had only just began to find droppings, hear scampering in Mrs. Hudson's flat, and other signs of rats about a week ago.  And this rat looked very well-fed, despite all of the food being watched very closely.

   And Mrs. Hudson certainly wasn't feeding them...

   He placed the rat back in the cage, mulling over the facts.  It seemed fairly clean for a rat too, and it _had_ quieted down a tad since he caged it.  Maybe it was being taken care of.  No, ridiculous, it must've been a pet before someone just decided to let it loose.  Nothing would be caring for a rat except perhaps other rats.

   And that's when Sherlock heard it; a small, but unmistakable sound seeming to come from the front of 221.  He waited a moment to see if he heard any other noises, but not noting anything, he walked to the sitting room window cautiously.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   He listened to slightly squeaking window open wider; Sherlock must've closed them while he was high.  John sat intensely, certainly Sherlock had heard _something_ ; be it John's yelling or something else, neither of which was good for the borrower.

   The floor creaked under the weight of the bean slowly shifting, keeping quiet to listen for John, who in turn was keeping quiet to listen for Sherlock.  The two had a silent standoff, for what seemed like hours to John, but he was certain it couldn'tve been that long.  The buzzing feeling in his head was absolutely intense, and his wrists almost began to feel sore from the stiffness, waiting tensely for his bean to find nothing.  Another creak and John watched dust fall between the floorboards, catching rays of light from the kitchen no doubt.  Was the detective never going to leave?

   At long last the window to 221B’s sitting area was left open, but Sherlock flopped back on the couch, _probably back first, of course_ and John followed his example.  He heavily fell back into bed, now thinking of the water even more so.  His wrists were fine now, but his brainstem still tingled from the encounter.  Despite the mildly annoying feeling, John felt most if not all the tension leave from himself; but he was too shaken to sleep just yet, leaving him to his thoughts.

   He waited another moment before getting up for that glass of water he now _needed_.  He opened the lid to the old takeout soup container he used for his reserves, and rubbed his eyes in frustration when he saw how low he had let it get.  Regardless, he took a cup of it and sat down at his table, staring at the liquid and ruminating for just a minute.

    _What if Sherlock did hear me?_

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   John had a bit of a rough night after the nightmare.  He didn't remember any dreams after the _one_ though, thank goodness.

   He looked at the calendar he had brought from downstairs, still being used to actually _knowing_ when a bean would be home or not by looking at their schedule.  Unfortunately, Sherlock refused to be limited by any kind of organization of time.  And John desperately needed to go out borrowing; he hadn't been out for water in a few days, and he was running dangerously low.  He hadn't yet tapped the pipes upstairs, and using the makeshift faucet downstairs would literally be the very last option he would take; both residences were almost as far from elevators and stairs as possible, so it would take a very long time to trek with borrowing jars and water.

   So he absolutely had to get water _today_.

   He of course had to spy on the detective to see whether or not he had _any_ intentions of leaving 221B today.  He grabbed his borrowing supplies, taking the jars for water just in case he had an opportunity, and headed towards the kitchen.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   As John crept to the hole in the cabinet underneath the sink once again, Mrs. Hudson came in to tidy a bit.  Sherlock of course started gathering up papers he didn't want touched as the elderly landlord bustled about the place, chirping merrily as she did so.  Suddenly after a good six minutes she was cut off by Sherlock, "You wouldn't happen to have any spare vegetation lying about?  The rat doesn't seem to like the meat I've been giving it."

   "Oh, Sherlock manners dear.  I don't have much at all actually, and I'm having company who'll probably like the last bits I have at the moment."

   "I suppose I'll head out and get some myself then."  Without another word, Sherlock swept out the door, leaving Mrs. Hudson saying her farewells to the empty air.  After a bit she left as well, leaving John to his own devices.

   John clambered out of the cabinet, eyeing the countertop and trying to come up with an idea of where to aim his hook.   _If my luck holds out I might be able to grab some spare supplies.  I can't see Rocky though, it's too..._

   "It’s too real now."  John had been fearless before; Sherlock didn't intimidate him as much as he probably should've.  The wild mind of Sherlock Holmes was genius, but even he wouldn't know about borrowers; they're too clean and careful most of the time.  John found him dangerous, but for one reason or another it didn't bother him like it was supposed to.  He'd loved the thrill of the game; Sherlock was an absolutely fantastic challenge.

   Now the danger was becoming a little more threateningly realistic, and normally John wouldn't mind so much.  However, the loneliness had started cutting into John.  He'd been harshly reminded of his isolation when he went to the city, and even more so when he began bonding with the rats.  Now he'd lost one of them to the pale, long, scientific hands of his bean.

   What if he had found John instead?

   John shook his head, determined to focus on the task ahead.  He started swinging the eye hook, trying to remember whether or not he had even seen the countertop before.  Surely there was something to catch on securely; his bean wasn't exactly the neatest of people.  He didn't want to risk catching something important though, such as a phial or a leaf of paper.  The swishing of the hook slowed and John let it clatter to the floor, pondering the state of his predicament.  He stared at the counter inquisitive for another moment before backing up to see over.

   John ended up jogging back almost across the kitchen, and turned back to the counter.  He saw the tops of some books, papers, delicate looking projects...  He continued to back up when he heard someone slowly stepping on the creaky step outside 221B.  John froze instantly, nerves on edge as he was entranced by the silence.

   The step creaked again, signaling they were stepping off and continuing up the stairs.  John ran towards the nearest wall, making himself small and trying to remember any escape routes near his position.  There was one on the other side of the cabinet, but he wouldn't be able to make it in time considering the person's speed; he wouldn't risk it.  He hid beneath the breakfast counter in the shadows where he would not likely be noticed.

   There were no sounds of lock picks or anything of the sort; Sherlock always left his door accessible to clients.  This seemed to be one of them, as he could hear and sort of see the person stroll in casually and set themselves down on an armchair facing away from John.

   Sorry, make that _clients_.

   A couple more men walked by the open doorway, these holding some kind of electrical equipment and setting to work on scouting the place.  John watched with growing interest and trepidation as they looked about, seemingly for small places.  Rocky wasn't having it, and began scuttling about the cage, squeaking

   After a minute or two the man started telling them where to put "them."   _Well_ _what_ are _they_ _then?_  John watched carefully as the men started placing small devices around the living room, and one walked towards the kitchen.  John dared not move, but the bean walked by with no problems and set up a ladder in the hallway, installing a--

   A camera?

   John's chest clenched and he inhaled deeply when he remembered to breathe again.  They were installing cameras and microphones, obviously to spy on Sherlock, but John wasn't concerned about that at the moment.  What the hell was _he_ supposed to do now?  The only thing he could do...

   He watched with intent now, memorizing every spot the cronies put anything in.  Cameras and microphones were quickly and efficiently installed, and John was only slightly relieved to see how few there were.  Still, they captured a lot of ground with the smart placement, as dictated by the man in a suit.  John found that the fridge and food cabinet wasn't in range of anything that may pick up on his presence, and for that he sent up a silent _thank_ _you_ to whatever had given him such a lucky break.

   They were finished within minutes and soon all of them left but the man in a suit.  He remained seated with a book that he buried his nose in for a long while.  John became rather irate that he didn't just up and leave, considering the work was finished.  What else could he possibly need?  Surely if Sherlock saw him he'd know something was up.

   He took a few hesitant steps out, hoping to be able to sneak past with no more trouble from the suit and company.  He remembered the cameras, but damn it all, he needed water...

   The bathroom.

   He experimentally walked out, silent as possible, looking to see how far the camera he knew was there could see.  If there was even a slight chance, he had to take it.  Every step felt ridiculously loud, and he had to look hard for the spot the camera was in.

   He walked out far enough that he knew that the camera wouldn't see him in the hall if he wasn't in its sight by then.  Fortunately the hallway camera was mostly capturing the bedroom, so he could easily make it to the bathroom... if he stuck to the wall at least.  The kitchen sink was on almost direct view of the camera, so that was no longer an option.

   John paused a moment and took the man on the seat into account, well, the little he could see of the bean anyway.  A suit and delicate hands was all he was getting.  Why set up cameras at Sherlock's flat unless you were interested in what he was doing?  So a criminal maybe?  An enemy in any case, obviously.

   John backed away quietly and made his way as delicately as possible to the carpeted hallway where his steps wouldn't be heard.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   By the time John had trotted all the way to the bathroom, and climbed the sink, he thought to himself, was the man simply going to stay until Sherlock came?  That had to be it, but what would they do such a thing for?  If John knew his bean, and boy did he know his bean, he was sure Sherlock would instantly suspect something.  Why would this man bother risking such a thing happening, that would sort of defeat the purpose, right?

   John suddenly realized the bean may be here for a rather long time too, nobody could predict Sherlock Holmes.  He could be here overnight waiting for that madman.  He may need the bathroom...

   The last though got John back in the present, and he quietly filled his containers and shut the now especially loud faucet off.  He began descending his rope down to the floor when he heard something downstairs.  Mrs. Hudson was talking to someone, but no response was heard, just bounding up the stairs.

   Sherlock was home.

   Suddenly John was moving much faster.

   He reached the bottom much later than he'd like, but he flicked down his hook expertly anyway.  He moved and caught it so as not to make more noise and alert the two sharp beans of his presence.

   His rapid heartbeat was pulsing through his ears, making it hard to focus on Sherlock's annoyed, strained speech to the calm man in the chair.  The other's soft, demeaning voice could be faintly heard through the blood rush as well, but from the jist of it Sherlock was not amused.  The other man may be though.  Never mind that, what the hell was _he_ going to do?  If he stayed, more than likely, one or the other would have to use the lavatory at some point.  There wasn't really a good place to hide; not the toilet itself or the bathtub, both were very obvious since he was wearing more traditional borrowing clothes.  That meant they were darker to blend with shadows better; but here in the light bathroom, they were a stark contrast to just about everything.  He took a deep breath and thought of any escape route into the walls...

   The hallway socket.  That was the closest opening, and probably his best shot.  Would the camera see him though?  He'd have to chance it.  He doubted anyone would be watching the footage yet, so that was about the only thing he _could_ do.

   He jogged to the doorway, hugging the wall and listening for any signs of movement from the two.  He shot a cursory look around the bend and there spotted the biggest problem he could possibly encounter; Sherlock Holmes had a clear view of the majority, if not all, of the hallway John was planning to cross.  He pulled back and took a deep breath.  There was no way he would make it without catching Sherlock's attention.  Never mind make it there, unscrew the face, and reset it properly before Sherlock had identified what exactly had just skittered from the bathroom.

   He'd have to wait them out.

   And Lord help him should someone need the loo.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   John waited behind the door.  Every passing moment was a bit of weight added on to his chest, a miniscule amount harder to keep calm.  He gripped the strap of his bag and took some deep breaths.  He could absolutely do this.  He'd done far too much towards staying for him to get caught _now_ of all times; at the, admittedly probably non-existent, mercy of two sharp minds locked behind the stony masks of two colossal beans.

   The buzzing eventually calmed.  Or maybe John just got used to it.  Either way, the tingling sensation wasn't as prominent by the time John became bored with the waiting.

   From the snippets of conversation he focused on, the man was trying to convince Sherlock to take a case for him.  Something about national security and highly secretive things about bean politics and so on.  This didn't catch the interest of John _or_ his bean.  For John, and most borrowers in fact, the affairs of beans were of little concern unless it immediately affected borrowing.

   After what seemed like hours the other bean apparently left.  Whether or not Sherlock would take the case was unknown, and the detective stood by the window, watching the man leave.

   John didn't dare move yet, he had no idea where the bean would go.  Soon he heard the all too familiar footsteps sounding a hurried walk to... the kitchen.   _DAMN your experiments Sherlock, get out of here.  I'm done waiting for you to find something to occupy yourself.  Go play your violin._

   John sucked in a shocked breath.  He was getting far too comfortable with his bean.  Had he really just...   _What the hell have I done?  I'm talking like he couldn't catch me.  Couldn't experiment on me. Couldn't--_  Rocky's scratching solidified his thoughts; his claws firmly etching them into his memory.

    _I need to be much more careful.  I'm getting too numb to the... the risks Sherlock poses.  I can't let that bean find me.  I've got to be sharper.  Hell I'm technically borrowing without a clear head, what's going on?_  With the realization that he was breaking one of the most basic borrowing rules came the cold reminder that he wasn't supposed to stay here in the first place.  The stay at 221B was only ever meant to be temporary.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   Eventually Sherlock did turn to the violin, and John had no problems getting back in the walls.  His precious water had nearly cost him, but at least he knew now that he may have to move back downstairs before he’d planned.  But wait, what about Rhodes?  Once rats had become aggressive towards borrowers there wasn't much to be done.  Besides, he was here for Sherlock to track anyways; it shouldn't take the colossus much longer now that he sort of knew the patterns of the rats no doubt.

   But what then?

   John sat over his stale biscuit and pondered.  Was it worth risking exposing his entire race to stay?  What if Sherlock did find him?  He had pushed his luck quite far, he would have to move back downstairs and keep as small a profile as possible.  Maybe he should just move out entirely.

   The idea didn't sound appealing, after all look at all the things he'd done to stay here; but the longer he thought about it, the more obvious it was.  He was simply buying time when he lived in 221B.  Living up here meant _borrowing_ up here, and Sherlock was sure to notice eventually.  Waiting out Mrs. Hudson may also prove to be a problem now that she was sure to be on the lookout for signs of rats.  Why then did it feel so wrong to leave?

    _I must be an adrenaline junkie.  Huh._  Nevertheless, moving downstairs would have to wait as well, since Rhodes was still loose and probably dangerous.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   A few days later, John moved stealthily under the floorboards, listening in for any clues on the whereabouts of Rhodes.  The rodent may not attack him on sight, but best to keep as stealthy as possible.  He noticed Sherlock spending more and more time in the kitchen, which lead him here.  He had begun to attempt borrow from Mrs. Hudson as often as possible, as it would be less noticeable since, well, that's where Rhodes still lived.  If John did anything it would be blamed on the rat, and not some unknown extra person living in the confines of 221 Baker Street.

   He came to the hole in the wall that he had plugged up, and it remained surprisingly untouched this far.  He pulled the rag back in, not needing it anymore since he was confident Rhodes wasn’t going anywhere, and noticed a crumple of paper that tore a little but came in with it.

   A letter.

   John hadn't received one in years; in fact, he hadn't _sent_ one in years.  What the borrowers considered mail service was a very unreliable form of communication.  If a letter was written it would be given to an outtie, who then if they were happening anywhere on that direction _might_ be able to get it to another outtie traveling further that way.  That outtie would then repeat the process, until it reached the intended recipient.  A lot of letters were never delivered at all, and John had been fortunate in knowing borrowers in the city to send mail through.  Now though, there was no reason to talk to anyone, and it must have been important if it was actually delivered.

   He wouldn't read it here though; not with Rhodes wandering on the loose.

   He quickly went through his more normal borrowing routine; get in, take what you need first, then optional things, and get out.  He managed to snag some basic foods, and even made away with a couple of matches.  The note burned in his mind, but he decidedly shoved his curiosity to the back burner until he got safely upstairs.

   He dropped everything off on the makeshift table, the letter now putting itself firmly in John's curiosity.  He checked the sloppy handwriting, sensing a slight bit of familiarity in the loops of his name.  Writing he had not seen in a long time...  What the hell was _she_ sending him letters for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently when I left that cliffhanger-that-wasn't-really-intended-as-a-cliffhanger-but-was-interpreted-as-one-by-some-which-is-kind-of-my-fault-but-okay-I-guess I didn't realize I would be gone this long. I'm really sorry but I can't say that I'll try harder because between my life, my email, and my Inspiration Imp I can't say with any kind of accuracy when I'll be posting anything.
> 
> I can say however the next chapter will absolutely be posted sometime in November. Yes, I know I've just contradicted myself, but you have put your trust in my hands so... really that's your fault. Be careful, don't do that.
> 
> And I would've done a spoopy short bonus chapter for Halloween, but in the story's timeline i think we're currently in early spring-ish? I'll check and make this look more professional, brb guys...
> 
> *tosses tic-tacs willy-nilly out of a basket and skips away*
> 
> So you put your trust in my hands. For shame, I said don't do that. I work retail and forgot to factor in the hell we've come to call Black Friday weekend. It's being edited as I type so it should be up tonight or tomorrow. Farewell my prettiest.


	9. She's a Piece of Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously it is NOT November anymore, but here is your chapter.
> 
> It's not as long as I would like it to be, but this is what I ended up with. Tada!

   John sat on his bed, the letter lying next to him, opened and read.  This was so out of the blue; he hadn't expected it at all.  She hadn't written him beforehand, never mentioned it when he had seen her last.  He sighed and stared at the barren walls, mentally bemoaning his predicament.

   His family had always been a little bit on the rocky side when it came to relationships.  Harry was apparently no exception.  Harry was a heavy drinker, which was a very frowned upon problem in borrower society.  A borrower who couldn't even manage to walk in a straight line was useless, and a risk of their entire race's exposure. Clara, Harriet's lover, had broken off the relationship, but Harry didn't mention why.  Harry had promptly spiraled out of control and, looking for comfort from her brother, was now moving steadily to the city to find out where John lived.  She didn't know John's current whereabouts, but she knew about the city.  So off she went.  No warnings, no triggers besides the broken relationship as far as he could tell, and no parents with her.   _Thank God for small mercies._

   John knew Harry would make it to the city; she was a Watson.  Rough and tough to the bones.  He also knew that she would be able to find out where 'Three Cities Watson' from the war now resided.  Knowing a lot about medicine and such things was a rarity, and Harry knew what to ask.  And if she came here, the addition of one more borrower, a recently heartbroken alcoholic, would definitely catch his-- _the_ bean's attention.

   John had to go back.

   There wasn't much of an option now.   _Harry has no filters.  She won't stop binge drinking just because Sherlock is a detective, and a genius to boot.  She'd get caught, and then where would I be?  Oh the fit Mum would have...  Da would kill me.  No, she can't come here and that's final._

   He packed accordingly, now having a much better idea of how long it would take him and where exactly to go.  He set out that afternoon to find his sister.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   John reached the city gates he thought he wouldn't have to look at again for a long while.  He didn't have to give people his name this time; many recognized him as the veteran he was.  Apparently he hadn't really been around long enough last time for word of his arrival to float to the right ears.  Of course he was told there was another borrower looking for him if he should ever come back to the city.

   It was a surprise to find it wasn't Harry.  In fact, it was very nearly the opposite.  Mike Stamford had started making trips to Saint Bart's on occasion with a group of the medically inclined to look for information and medicine.  He had figured it would be right up John's alley.  Of course the proposition delivered by word of mouth from several people sparked John's interest; however, Harry had to come first.

   He picked up a small job doing light nurse work for the time being; Harry would know to look at a hospital first.  That and he knew his papers from years ago wouldn't last forever; so the more revenue he could earn, the better off he and Harry would be, even if it was only temporary.

   A few days later while he was working, word reached John that a woman had come asking for him by name.  John had by then made a rough course of action, and had already set it into motion.  He'd met up with Stamford after one of the organized raids and found out as much as he could about the expeditions over coffee.  He planned on staying for a bit to make sure Harry didn't follow him home.  She was the type of borrower to do something like that; argue with John about living with him, looking like she'd resigned, and then show up at his gate a week later.

   He cleaned up and left to find his sister.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   As was expected, she'd argued her way through everything.

   While Harry could be a stubborn mule, there were on rare occasion glorious moments when she would listen to the voice of reason.  This wasn't really one of those times.  She'd been offended that John wasn't willing to give her a little longer to grieve the loss of her fiancé and adamantly proclaimed that she wouldn't get a job until she 'felt she was ready.'  John assumed what Harry meant by that was she was never going to motivate herself, and so he would either have to intervene forever or slowly pull away.  

   They weren't supposed to be living together on a _permanent_ basis anyway, but Harry had neither job nor papers to pay for anything.  Therefore John paid for both of their every day existence.  He made it very clear that she needed to start standing on her own two feet though.  When he got back from this raid, he planned to begin separating himself a little.  In fact, he was surprised that he had that much patience for his older sister; she hadn't changed much from what he remembered.  Still a troublemaker, still an alcoholic, and still out to prove herself.

   She acted much too young for her age.  Using borrower slang common among the younger crowd, very much into any kind of technology borrowers could get their hands on, and of course, partying like a bean.  It was a bit much for John; yes even 'Three Cities Watson' was a bit put off by her gluttonous behavior.  He was sure Harry loved the city, if only for its large supply of alcohol; if he played his cards right, getting her settled on her own shouldn't be too big a problem.

   The night before his first raid he'd opened the door at a very late hour.  He was only a bit surprised to see not Harry herself, but someone there on her behalf.  She'd gone partying but the group she was with didn't know where she was and hadn't seen her leave the place at all.  It wasn't an enormous city so nobody expected the length of the search to be as long as it became.  John and several others scoured high and low, even getting some others to join in the effort.

   Harry was found early the next morning, slumped outside of the place she and John were staying in, passed out and clutching a bean plastic fork.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   John was just a bit put out.

   His first raid so far was nothing to write home about.  Not that he would be writing to anyone in the first place.  John was wiped out from the night before, so he was on guard duty.  He held a straw upright with a bright yellow rag stuffed at the top of it.  It _was_ a little nerve-racking being on the line of sight if a bean should walk by.  Should any bean come near he was closer than the group to the door, and if his sense went off, he was to hide.  The entire group was keeping an eye on the flag too, so if it was absent they would know to make themselves scarce.

   So far though, nothing had happened and they were nearly done.  The security cameras were easily avoidable, so they didn't really pose a threat either.

   The borrower soon noticed the group returning, and Stamford gave him the signal to follow them back up into the air vents they came from.

   He clambered back up the rope they had tossed down to him and they made it back underground without a hitch.  Walking back he suddenly felt the phantom pain in his leg.  It wasn't nearly as bad as it used to be, but the sensation was undeniable.  It was easy to shrug off, but he caught Stamford looking at him a little too often with a strange expression.  John put off asking about it; he was just a bit too tired and out if sorts to care much.

   After the party returned to the borrower hospital many went straight home; John, Stamford, and a couple others stayed behind to take inventory.  At first nobody really carried much conversation, but eventually Stamford spoke.  "So your legs acting up eh?  I haven't seen you favor one over the other once before the raid.  What happened?"

   John stood for a second staring at Mike for a moment.  He honestly didn't know.  "Maybe I just got my mind off of things.  I'm not sure; it seems whenever I come here it tags along, maybe it's got something to do with that."

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   Over the course of the next few weeks Harry seemed to do the same thing.  Go out, get drunk, come home, be miserable, pass out, and repeat.  And that was _if_ she came home.  There was more than one occasion when John had to search for his sister, until after more than two weeks of the same routine he'd had enough.

   Through a long and very toilsome process he managed to get Harry sober enough for interviews.  That got the ball rolling, and after a while, he barely had to prompt her beyond withholding money for alcohol.  That got her fairly motivated.

   To the dismay of John, many knew of Harry's exploits of alcohol and partying, and were therefore reluctant to hire her.  They tried a wide variety of places, but time and time again Harry was turned down.  John began to fear she would turn back to the bottle if this trend kept up much longer.

   Thankfully before that came to pass they found something to earn her credit that would take just about anyone; carting.  Harry might’ve been an alcoholic, but she was no weakling.  She was also a Watson, and was used to borrowing for two of she was ever sober enough to manage it.  She had very few problems getting used to the idea, and soon John felt confident enough to leave her home alone for more than two hours at a time.

    _And thank the stars for that small mercy._

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   It took a long while, but the day came when John was packing his things and moving out of the flat.  He wouldn't be staying here that much longer, and Harry had begun to accept this as a safe haven; her own home.  So naturally, John was the one to get a new place.  It was very simple flat he chose; a bed, a side table, coat rack, and a community kitchenette and bathroom down the hall.  He wouldn't be staying so why waste trading papers on something he didn't need?  It had been months now, and he had his own home that he was missing very much now.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   The group headed out again for a raid.  Most of the people were no longer strangers to John, but a few were missing, and there were some new faces to replace them.  They had just begun to the air duct part of their journey, which John was never fully accommodated to.  They weren't heavy enough to make the metal groan under their weight, but they wrapped their shoes to keep from making tapping sounds.  John was used to going out in only borrowing shoes lately, 221 didn't have many metal surfaces to be crossed over.  He was sure he'd get used to the idea after a while, since he'd practiced wrapping his feet as a child like many other borrowers did.

   The parts that really made him uncomfortable were the grates.  Most were positioned on the sides of the ducts; one could just stick to the opposite wall with little trouble or fear of being noticed.  However, there were some on the bottom of the square passageway, leaving them exposed for periods of time that were too long for John's taste.  That and you had to look down to watch where you stepped.  He could imagine one misstep leading to snapped legs; practically a death sentence to borrowers in the old days.  With all of these people around him, John imagined tripping up wouldn’t be quite as bad as the scenes that played in his head insisted it would be.  Better to not hurt yourself in the first place though.

   Most of the time the hallways or room they passed over were either empty, or there were distractions for the beans below to be absorbed in.  The times John could look back and say that it was actually dangerous in the grates were few.  A bean that had just walked into a room and began turning on lights and observing his surroundings.  A red-headed lab coat with two coffees muttering something to herself about the project she and a colleague were working on.  John recognized something about her, but all of the beans in his previous home were sandy blonde or light brown haired.  It spooked him a little but it was quickly brushed off.

   The group eventually made it to their ultimate goal.  They went to the last emergency unit that had been used; it hadn't been cleaned yet and it was furthest from the main hall.  The sterile processors wouldn't come to clean the equipment for a while, which is why it was chosen.  The borrowers needed strong antibiotics and that was always the best place to get it.  Any other equipment had to be brought to a special room where people would always be cleaning things.  Here, everything was left in the room to be used at a moment's notice.  As long as one of the carts was slightly out of view of the camera, they were golden.

   For the most part, everything went off without a hitch.  A mob of Doctors ran by with a patient at one point, but they didn't bother with the room.  They were safely out of sight with everything they needed long before the cleaners were of any sort of threat.

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   Coming back to his residence was a little strange now.  John had almost become used to having something else living with him; beans, rats, Harry, even familiar walls.  Now there was nobody to greet him anymore, nothing to be done.  A very dull existence indeed.  He could barely stand living like this anymore.  There was not much for him here in terms of what he was looking for... But what was he looking for?

 

«~oO^Oo~»

 

   Something was wrong.  An obvious something that he wasn't getting.  No matter how the detective flipped it, switched it, rearranged it, poked and prodded, something was...  Missing.  The problem wasn't that he wasn't putting the pieces together; the problem was that the connector was missing.

   He'd caught more rats. They'd moved back in a swarm and he'd sealed off the hole they must've been getting through.  But these new ones didn't behave the same way at all. They were much messier about the way they did things. They were scrawny, sickly, and truly wild rodents.  Why had they taken so long to move in?  The hole was there, and the two "pet rats" as he referred to them, had obviously been around for a while before the rest had caught on.  What was different?

   The fact that they were obviously house trained rodents _should've_  indicated that they wouldn't last long out on their own; foraging for food, avoiding the poisoned food, keeping clear of traps...  They weren't _trained_  rats, they knew no commands, didn't play with any of the store toys he bought, and seemed hostile when he reached in a hand to grab them.  They were very much used to the cages though, made obvious by the other rats going insane trying to escape.  The two seemed fairly content in the metal confines, though they may be gnawed at the wires at 3 am on more than one occasion.  He'd found a few rats between the pet ones but they were easily distinguishable by the obvious differences between them and the others.  He could put them in the same cage as well, so they must've been used to each other; none of the others would stand any other specimen in their space.  The pair were aggressive to outsiders as well.  Why would they stick together from wherever they had come from and move into 221 together in the first place?  Did they develop a pack mentality?

   No more food was being taken, and there weren't any bad smells coming from anywhere in the house.  Sherlock had obviously cleared out the pests, but he still felt the need to tear the walls apart looking for answers.  All of the information had stopped coming, but Sherlock was only thinking up more questions.  The other rats bored him and he had already begun dissecting them.  He hadn't found anything strange about any of them though; regular diets from what they could get, a diseased one here or there, but nothing to panic about.  They were properly disposed of.

   The pets though, he had kept them.  Not _as_ pets, no.  But killing them would feel like giving up and ending the experiment early.  There were too many holes in the story that couldn't possibly be solved through dissection.

   Then, something else entered the picture; Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *expertly dodges questions secret agent ninja style*


End file.
